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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28511547">Sleepy Bois Turnabout</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoozyZinc/pseuds/TwoozyZinc'>TwoozyZinc</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sleepy Bois Inc: Ace Attorney [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Sleepy Bois Inc, Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ace Attorney AU, Alternate Universe - Ace Attorney, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of denial, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, There are police in this story it is an AA inspired, Will edit character tags as new ones are introduced, a few are up to interpretation, all the sleepy bois are adopted, background romantic relationships, but then lots of hurt, dream smp au, fundy is not related to anyone, looking at you tommy, no Nsfw, please forgive me i cannot tag, slowburn angst, there is a lot of swearing, tubbo is an orphan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:15:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>76,019</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28511547</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoozyZinc/pseuds/TwoozyZinc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is a well-respected prosecutor just getting back into work.</p><p>Technoblade is a feared and successful defense attorney with questionable clients and is rumored to be a bit... unstable.</p><p>Wilbur is a musician turned politician with big plans for a better world.</p><p>Tommy is a junior detective who probably causes more crimes than he solves and whose best friend can possibly sense ghosts.</p><p>Life was good, too good to last, apparently. A horrific murder shatters their perfect world and it's up to them to avenge their fallen family member and send his killer to jail, but this is so much bigger than any of them first realize.<br/>----------</p><p>Basically, a bunch of family dynamics but also someones gonna die and everyone else reacts appropriately. Inspired by the AA universe.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexis | Quackity &amp; Jschlatt, Clay | Dream &amp; Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Eret &amp; Wilbur Soot, If the relationship isn't there dw I just haven't written it yet, Technoblade &amp; Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade, Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sleepy Bois Inc: Ace Attorney [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>279</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>512</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue - Today was going to be good</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>First fic, wish me luck!</p><p>I hope you enjoy! I have big plans for this so if I ever take a while to upload, don't worry! I haven't abandoned it or run out of story, I'm probably just late.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Phil enjoys a quiet morning.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is a little short but it IS only the prologue. Most others will be longer. I also won't rely so much on the text format so if that's a turn-off don't worry.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> It was going to be a good day. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>That had been his thought as Phil stepped out into his porch to enjoy the chill. It really was picturesque; sun rays coming through the clouds, distant city sounds contrasting the nature-filled yard, a hot cup of tea in his hands to counter the first cold day of the year, it was just nice. </p><p> </p><p>Phil sat down on one of the porch chairs and relaxed. He was glad to finally be going back to work but still wanted to soak up every last bit of his “retirement” as possible. </p><p> </p><p>Of course, he never actually planned to retire completely, but asking for an undetermined amount of years off probably would not have gone over well even for someone reputable as him. Still, he wanted to focus on his sons and had enough money saved and a successful enough career to convincingly go into an early “retirement” then decide to come back once his boys were mostly grown. Perfectly legal. He doubted anyone really believed his little ruse anyway. On his last day, his coworker had simply shaken his head and said “you’re really a lawyer, Phil.” </p><p> </p><p>It’s not like he ever really took a break from the law anyway. He spent so much time helping Technoblade he might as well have just stayed working. That couldn’t have actually have worked though, in no small part to Techno becoming a <em> defense </em>attorney. If Phil had still been a working prosecutor Techno would have probably not been able to accept so much of his help. Not that he wasn’t perfectly capable on his own, it’s just Phil knew how much it helped to actually have someone standing next to you, especially your first few trials and <em>especially </em>with Techno’s stage anxiety. He never looked it, but in a stressful unfamiliar situation, that poor boy would cave.</p><p> </p><p>Besides, Phil had three sons. He didn’t retire just for Techno and had still had needed the flexibility to be able to help Wilbur and Tommy if they needed it. If he was <em>actually </em>on a case he couldn’t have put it aside as he’d needed to when Wilbur broke his leg, or when Techno got into a fight, or when Tommy needed help with school. Now that Wilbur and Techno were out on their own and Tommy was old enough to be relatively independent he could go back.</p><p> </p><p>Honestly, he’d originally planned to wait until <em>all </em>his sons were graduated but as much he enjoyed the freedom of retirement he was not ready for it yet. He’d found himself counting the days until he could properly get back to work and ended up deciding Tommy, trouble as he was, did not need as much attention as his brothers had. Besides, with Techno and Wilbur both moved out it was probably a good idea to have some steady household income. He was smart with his savings but not stupid enough to solely rely on them for the rest of his life.</p><p> </p><p>Phil closed his eyes for a minute to enjoy his own gratitude. He knew that these past few years were possible because of his hard work and success but he still couldn’t help feeling incredibly lucky. He was, he supposed. Lucky he’d been able to get into a good school. Lucky he’d never had a too-stupid or corrupt judge. Lucky he’d never been stuck with a career-screwing case. Lucky he’d been in the right places at the right times to meet and adopt his family.</p><p> </p><p>His thoughts hovering on his sons, Phil pulled out his phone. </p><p> </p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p>
  <b>[Family Chat]</b>
</p><p> </p><p><b>Philza:</b> Hello boys </p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> Whats up</p><p> </p><p><b>Philza: </b>I was just thinking about you guys </p><p><b>Philza:</b> Mentality preparing your go back to work and all that </p><p><b>Philza:</b> How are you? </p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> Busy. </p><p> </p><p><b>Philza:</b> I thought you just finished a case</p><p><b>Philza:</b> got a new one already? </p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> nah, just wrapping up the same one. </p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> client’s being difficult about getting some pieces of evidence back </p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> some makeshift flame thrower and a headband</p><p> </p><p><b>Philza</b>: isn’t that the police’s department?</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> Yes. </p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> It is.</p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> and I keep trying to explain that to him</p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> but him and his friends have got a thing about police </p><p> </p><p><b>Tommy:</b> sus 👀</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> they’re so weird </p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> one guy had on the same green outfit every time I saw him and always this white disc clipped to his belt</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>I think it was a mask</p><p> </p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> he probably sells drugs </p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> The other was pretty normal I guess</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>I think he was colorblind or something </p><p> </p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> SUS</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> hold on</p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> the idiot is calling me </p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> woah what the fuck</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> a flamethrower? </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b>  what kind of case were you working? </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Tech? </p><p> </p><p><b>Philza:</b> I think he left </p><p> </p><p><b>Wilbur:</b> oh</p><p><b>Wilbur:</b> that’s okay</p><p><b>Wilbur:</b> I wanted to talk to you anyway </p><p> </p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> will come open the display case </p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> Will</p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> will</p><p><b>TommyInnit::</b> will</p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> will</p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> will</p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> will</p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> wil</p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b>  Wilbur </p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> Wilby</p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> wilbur </p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> wilbur </p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> wilbur </p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> wil</p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> wilbur </p><p> </p><p><b>Philza:</b> Tommy, aren’t you with Wilbur?</p><p> </p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> wilbur </p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> wilbur </p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> will</p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> wil</p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> will</p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> will</p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> will</p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> will</p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> DAD WILBUR JUST HIT ME </p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> I DID NOT </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> I JSUT FLICKED HIM </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> FOR SPAMNING </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> when I was LITERALLY half a meter away </p><p> </p><p><b>TommyInnit: </b>ASSULT</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>he fucking made eye contact with me while typing</p><p> </p><p><b>Philza:</b> 😆</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> L</p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p> </p><p>Phil knew he probably shouldn’t feel anxious about this “we need to talk” stuff, so he didn’t. Wilbur was asking about it on the family chat so he doubted it was anything too serious, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t important. He switched over to Wilbur’s personal number out of courtesy.</p><p> </p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p>
  <b>[Wilbur ♪]</b>
</p><p> </p><p><b>Philza: </b>So what did you want to talk about?</p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p> </p><p>Philza finished his tea. He took a moment to stretch before glancing at his phone again. No new texts yet. He figured he may as well take a quick break to put his mug inside. He’d been outside for long enough anyway; he was starting to get cold. </p><p> </p><p>He checked his phone again.</p><p>Huh. Still nothing. </p><p> </p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p>
  <b>[Wilbur ♪]</b>
</p><p> </p><p><b>Philza: </b>You still there?</p><p><b>Philza: </b>Hellooo?</p><p><b>Philza: </b>Son?</p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p> </p><p>Tommy was with him. Tommy was probably bugging him, distracting him, generally taking up his attention, and that’s why he’d suddenly dropped the conversation. </p><p> </p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p><b>[To</b><b>mmy </b>🔫 <b>]</b></p><p> </p><p><b>Philza: </b>hey Tommy</p><p><b>Philza: </b>can you tell Will to answer his phone?</p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p> </p><p>He shook his leg while he waited. He was calm. He knew this wasn’t anything. He didn’t want to call either of them because he knew this was small, he just needed to be patient. In all honesty, he could have waited longer to try again, but he didn’t really need to. </p><p> </p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p>
  <b>[Family Chat]</b>
</p><p> </p><p><b>Philza: </b>Hello? </p><p><b>Philza: </b>Tommy?</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> I took his phone. </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Can you just call me? </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Whenever you want </p><p> </p><p><b>Philza: </b>Sure</p><p><b>Philza: </b>One sec</p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p> </p><p>So, he was right on the money. Tommy’s shenanigans were at fault for the sudden silence. Phil took a moment to stifle his laughter before dialing up Wilbur’s number. </p><p><br/>
Today <em> was </em>going to be a good day.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Why does it feel like something's going to go wrong?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wilbur hangs out with Tommy at his work.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, thank you for the comments! I honestly didn't expect anyone to read this, which I know is weird because that's kind of the point of this site, but still, thank you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wilbur liked his job. It was a pretty sucky one at first glance, what with being stuck in a music shop at the back of an alley all day, being in customer service, the so-so pay, the odd hours, etc. but he enjoyed it. He had pretty much all the freedom he wanted so long as nothing ended up stolen or broken and he locked up on time. </p><p> </p><p>Most of the customers were regulars just coming in for practice or repairs. The most common interaction he had was the customer would come in, say hello, then drop off/pick up their instrument and leave. The second most common was people coming in to use one of the three soundproof rooms in the back to practice. Despite what you’d think, it was pretty rare to have someone come in to buy a new instrument, most of the income was from parts, repairs, and loaning of recording equipment.</p><p> </p><p> The shop was too out of the way for people just looking to force their kid into a hobby and small enough to scare off the pricks that show up just to flaunt how much more they know than the people who actually work there. Good or bad, most people were at the very least there for a reason. </p><p> </p><p>Except for Tommy. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy had literally no business there, ever. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy would show up just to fuck around, “try-out” (make annoying noise with) the instruments, screw around in the back rooms, and just generally be a dickhead to Wilbur. </p><p> </p><p><em> Tommy </em> had apparently decided to make it his personal mission to get Wilbur as close to fired as possible. It probably wasn’t going to happen, Wilbur has been working here since he was a teenager and, as the only person who stuck around for more than just the time it took to pad out a resume, was nigh irreplaceable as an employee, but still. Tommy was annoying.</p><p> </p><p>He just started showing up one day, Wilbur guessed because he was bored. Despite not having an appointment system set up in the shop he always managed to come in when no one else was in the store. Wilbur wouldn’t put it past the little freak to have calculated all the customers’ usual times just so he’d have the store to himself. He supposed things like memorizing and writing down every detail of stranger’s complicated routines would do some good if Tommy ever actually became a detective but for now, it was considered creepy and annoying. The kid had issues. At least Tubbo seemed to balance him out a little. </p><p> </p><p>That was a good thing about his brother inserting himself into every situation ever, he always dragged Tubbo along.</p><p> “Dragged” was the wrong word, Wilbur supposed,  Tubbo willingly followed him everywhere and vice versa. They were like two loyal puppies. Mismatched peas in a pod since the day they met and inseparable since the day they were old enough to walk to the other’s house. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe that’s why he was filled with such dread when Tommy walked in alone. It was odd. Weird. Wrong. It felt like an omen. No, that’s not true, it wasn’t caused by Tommy, he’d been feeling off all day but for some reason, that’s the moment it all came to a head. His chest tightened. He sat up straight and took a breath, shaking his head as if to rattle out the dark thoughts. That was silly. Tommy and Tubbo aren’t attached at the hip. He’s probably just getting sick or something. He might need to talk to his boss about going home early just in case- no, his shift was almost over anyway. Was he really just getting sick? He felt fine physically but what else- </p><p> </p><p>A sharp ringing noise jolted him from his funk. He jumped, worries immediately forgotten and replaced with annoyance. Tommy was slamming the service bell repeatedly. Wilbur grabbed it. </p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck, Tommy?” </p><p> </p><p>Tommy shrugged as though he’d never done anything even remotely questionable ever in his life. </p><p> </p><p>“You weren’t acknowledging me.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’d been in the store for like two seconds!”</p><p> </p><p>“I crave attention, you know this. Bell is there to make the workers pay attention, yes? Can’t believe you treat your customers this-” </p><p> </p><p>“You’re not a customer. Unless you actually plan on buying something this time?” </p><p> </p><p>“Hah. No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I guessed. You couldn’t play a triangle.” </p><p> </p><p>Tommy took a step back, hand raised to his chest in mock offense. “Hey! Maybe I will try something!” </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur put on his fakest customer service smile. “As always, you’re welcome to browse as long as you’d like. I’ll be here if you have any questions, <em>sir.”</em>  He gestured sarcastically to the rest of the store.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy flipped him off (a gesture Wilbur returned despite knowing he was on camera and Tommy technically WAS a customer) and walked over to browse a section of drum sets. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur went back to staring into space now that Tommy was suitably- if temporarily- shut up. He could never tell if it was harder or easier to deal with his brother without Tubbo there. On one hand, with Tubbo he’s focused on his friend which keeps him from getting bored and looking for trouble, on the other hand, his stupidity had a tendency to amplify when he had someone to bounce ideas to, which meant the trouble he DID get into was planed and therefore usually worse. It was funny, Tubbo was usually such a mild-mannered kid but under the surface, he was just as chaotic as Tommy. Maybe that’s why they were such a good match- oh yeah.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Tommy, where’s Tubbo?” </p><p> </p><p>Tommy, who had abandoned his faux browsing in favor of playing on his phone, was now sat on the display case. He either ignored Wilbur or didn’t hear the question, opting to fidget with his pin instead of answer. </p><p> </p><p>“TOMMY!”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy jumped, dropping his pin somewhere. “Gah! Oh, fuck- what?” </p><p> </p><p>“Where’s Tubbo?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. He’s busy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Too busy for you? Doing what?”</p><p> </p><p>“You know that spirit channeling thing he found out he’s a descent from?” </p><p> </p><p>“...what?” </p><p> </p><p>“You know he started looking into his parents and stuff a while back?” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Tubbo was an orphan. He hadn’t been adopted yet (Tommy actually tried to get Phil to adopt him when they were younger) but recently had been prompted to start doing his own research into his family tree, “what about it?”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s got spirit powers or some shit. Ghosts, kinda. I don’t know, I zone out every time he tries to explain. He’s been working on it for months though, meditating and shit. I try to help but it is very boring so I usually just get him things I think will help like candles and blankets and I let him use the basement because his room is too small and his roommate-”</p><p> </p><p>“You were lighting candles around blankets in the basement? By yourself?”</p><p> </p><p>“...Anyway, Tubbo’s on a day trip to a village to learn more about it and maybe find a great-great-aunt or uncle or something.” </p><p> </p><p>“Huh. Ghosts...” the unsettled feeling began creeping back into his gut, only to once again be interrupted by Tommy. </p><p> </p><p>“Haha! What the fuck.” </p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Check your texts, Technoblade has a wild client.” </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur took out his phone. Phil and Technoblade had been texting. (Oh yeah, he needed to talk to Phil.) His eyes widened a bit as he scrolled. It sounded like something out of a novel. Flamethrowers and creepy mask guys? Jeez.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know only girls can channel spirits in the game but this is an AU and that counts for both parties. The world is a little bit twisted to fit these characters, just like the characters were changed to fit the world.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Something goes... wrong?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wilbur finds himself caught in the middle of... something odd. Enjoy!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was actually part of the last chapter but I thought it just was too much so I split it. That's why the last one was so short and why you get two in a row like this.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p>
  <b>[Family Chat]</b>
</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> woah what the fuck</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> a flamethrower? </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> what kind of case were you working? </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Tech? </p><p> </p><p><b>Philza:</b> I think he left </p><p> </p><p><b>Wilbur:</b> oh</p><p><b>Wilbur:</b> that’s okay</p><p><b>Wilbur:</b> I wanted to talk to you anyway </p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur wanted to talk about an idea he’d come up with while talking with Eret, Niki, and Fundy. It would probably do him proud, completing the family tradition of law-related careers, and it was a fresh new direction to take his life in. Don’t get him wrong, he was doing great as a nobody working up to a musical career, but this just felt exciting and important. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe that’s why he was feeling so trepidatious? Yeah. Yeah, that was it. That was definitely it. The source of his dread. He was just subconsciously worried. Oh, well, that’s okay. It’s okay. Now he can address it. He’d talk to Phil- </p><p> </p><p>His train of thought was cut off by his phone abruptly buzzing non-stop. He looked back down at his screen to find it flooding with messages from Tommy, the first being a request to open the display case (which he could have just asked in person) and the rest being attempts to get his attention (which, again, he’s standing like a meter away). He walked over, glaring quizzically at Tommy.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy, in turn, paused for a moment to look up at Wilbur, then proceeded to keep sending texts rapid-fire.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur roughly jabbed a finger into Tommy’s temple. “I’m right here you moron.”</p><p> </p><p>“OW! WHAT THE FUCK?” Tommy screeched. He shot a glare before furiously texting something into the chat.</p><p> </p><p>Was he seriously complaining to Philza? Wilbur checked his phone. He was seriously complaining to Philza and <em> lying.  </em></p><p> </p><p>“I did not <em> hit </em>you, I barely poked you! I did not-“</p><p> </p><p>He cut himself off to defend himself in the chat. Tommy was laughing his ass off.  Wilbur, significantly less amused and wanting to prevent this “he did, he didn’t” game from going on too much further, snatched the phone out of his hands. </p><p> </p><p>“Give that back, BITCH!” </p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“GIVE IT!”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy began grabbing at the phone, which Wilbur held high out of his reach. He couldn’t help but snicker as Tommy got more and more frustrated. The snickering boiled into full-out hysterical laughter when Tommy, blindly jumping like an angry puppy trying to reach a treat, missed and fell arms-first into the glass display case. </p><p> </p><p>“Uh. Ow. Fuck. Son of a bitch, that <em>really</em> <em>hurt… </em>augh<em>… fuck...”</em></p><p> </p><p>It had apparently hurt enough for him to only be squeaking out curses instead of screaming them but that only made the scene funnier. It had made a wack sound like from a cartoon and he dramatically strewed himself on the floor in such a clumsy and graceless fashion. He stayed on the ground, holding his elbow and rolling around a little like he’d been shot. It was like watching Icarus plummet. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur put both phones in his coat pocket and tried to kneel down to help his brother but nearly fell over himself from laughing so hard.</p><p> </p><p>“AHAHA! Are- are you ok- HAHA… oh, oh my god. PAHAHA- uh- are you alright?”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up bitch. It’s not that funny.”</p><p> </p><p>“HAH-“ Wilbur banged his hand on the display case a few times. He held his face with his other hand, not even trying to help anymore and instead just focused on trying to breathe. “Oh my- oh my god… ha-HA!” </p><p> </p><p>Tommy pulled himself to his feet, still rubbing his elbow but clearly over the shock of the fall. He gave Wilbur a half-assed kick and sat back on top of the case.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe you still have a job.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, shut up, Tommy.” </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur took a breath, trying to force himself to be serious again but failing to hide the smile still plastered on his face. He rubbed his face a little and pulled out his phone. </p><p> </p><p>Oh shit, he needed to lock up. </p><p> </p><p>The workday was barely started for most people but it was nearly 20 minutes past his shift. The store’s hours were incredibly odd and always changing, they had been inconsistent for nearly five years, but he didn’t really mind. He got plenty of notice and it was usually flexible if he called in early enough. His bosses were pretty understandable people. The only thing they ever really breathed down his neck about was closing on the time that’d been established. They were okay if he closed a bit early, but were very clear that staying in the shop after-hours was harshly discouraged and customers <em> absolutely </em> needed to be out of the shop. </p><p> </p><p>He jolted upright, humor gone from his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Shit.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m late. You need to leave.”</p><p> </p><p>“But you haven’t unlocked the display case yet! I dropped my-“</p><p> </p><p>“Tommy! Seriously, get out. I’m actually going to get in trouble.”</p><p> </p><p>“I-“</p><p> </p><p>“OUT!”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur grabbed Tommy’s arm and dragged him to the door, pushing him out and slamming it shut before he had a chance to argue anymore. He changed the sign in the window to its “CLOSED” side, ignoring his brother tapping on the glass and closing the blinds. </p><p> </p><p>Okay. This was fine. It was just a tiny slip-up. Again, he was a good employee. He wasn’t going to actually be fired or anything, he’d probably just get a lecture and have freedoms somewhat restricted for a little bit. He probably wouldn’t be allowed to have his brother hanging around so much, but that was honestly a good thing, right? He pursed his lips. </p><p> </p><p>Having to work without ever having a sudden visit from Tommy and Tubbo sounded kind of… boring. Yeah, he complained about it a lot, and, yeah, Tommy was actually a bit of a prick but he still <em> liked </em>him and did enjoy their banter during his visits. Ugh. Oh well. It was no one’s fault other than his own. </p><p> </p><p>He sighed as he pulled out his phone. He really was an idiot. He was required to do <em> so little </em> around here and he really took that for granted sometimes. He needed to message his bosses and apologize. If he addresses it first it might minimize the damage. As he opened his message app he noticed he’d gotten several texts from Phil.</p><p> </p><p>Oh yeah, Phil. </p><p> </p><p>He’d kind of dropped their conversation right after asking him to talk. Oh well, now was still as good a time as any. He sent an oversimplified explanation and asked Phil to call him whenever before setting down his phone to continue locking up. It only took a moment for his phone to start ringing. </p><p> </p><p>“Hello?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, Phil!”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, son.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry about ghosting earlier, I got uh- <em> distracted </em> by-“</p><p> </p><p>“By Tommy?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, by Tommy.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a muffled chuckle from the other end, as though Phil was covering the phone to try and hide his laughter. Wilbur couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. He set the phone on speaker and threw it on the counter so he could work and talk.</p><p> </p><p>“He seriously could have gotten me into trouble this time.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh? What happened?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, nothing really, I’m just late to lock up.”</p><p> </p><p>“That doesn’t sound too bad.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s the one thing I’ll ever actually get in trouble for. Come in on time, not early. Leave on time, not late. I swear I could steal straight from the register and they’d care less.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s odd.”</p><p> </p><p>“This place has almost always been odd. That’s why I like working here so much, if my boss’ biggest concern is not paying overtime I’m not gonna try to rock the boat.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ha. Fair enough I guess. So, what did you want to talk about?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh yeah!” Wilbur put away the rag he was using to wipe the counter and pulled out a clipboard used to mark inventory. “You know my friends Niki, Fundy, and Eret?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course! Well, I know Niki.”</p><p> </p><p>“We were talking a lot about potions and-“</p><p> </p><p>“Potions?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. You know, healing, strength, night-vision-“</p><p> </p><p>“I- yeah, yeah I know, why were you talking about them? That stuff is dangerous, Will. More than that, the people who deal with it are. Do you remember how much trouble you got in just for joking about it? I really hope this isn’t another relapse into “crime boy.” </p><p> </p><p>“No no no! Just the opposite! I want to run for a seat on the council.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Really! I mean, potions are just one of the topics I want to deal with but it’s probably going to be the main one I address during my campaign.”</p><p> </p><p>“What about potions?”</p><p> </p><p>“I want to make them legal.”</p><p> </p><p>“…huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, think about it. Why is potion crime so common and so violent? People often compare them to drugs and drug violence but it’s not anything like that! No one’s addicted to potions, they’re not recreational, for a lot of things they’re a necessity. It’s because people <em> need </em>them. It’s supply and demand. I want to get potions being made legally and safely. If it’s all out in the open we’ll be able to monitor who’s buying what and, more importantly, since it’s a safer option that won’t get you shot or in jail, it will be overwhelming competition for the brewer gangs. Take away their monopoly, their business, their power. Why risk going to a shady dealer when you can purchase a regeneration at your local pharmacy, probably for cheaper?”</p><p> </p><p>He’d finished counting and marking stock a while ago so he put the clipboard away, pulling out a grey-blue notebook from his coat pocket to scribble notes into as he talked.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Not only that, it would make it easier for companies that need them to have potions on the stock. Imagine always having vials of fire-resistance next to extinguishers, or construction workers having easy access to slow-falling?</p><p> </p><p>We already have healing potions in some hospitals and police use potions of weakness on occasion so it’s not like we don’t know they can be good. Why not let the public have some access? </p><p> </p><p>We have the recourses, it’s the fear-mongering and the people taking advantage of that fear to violently enforce a shortage for a higher prophet that are the problem. If we normalized them and it wasn’t taboo to know how to safely use them it would be common knowledge how much is dangerous and what to avoid. </p><p> </p><p>There’s still the question of if/how we should deal with inherently harmful ones like poison and, well, harming but even just leaving those to the gangs still eliminates nearly all of their business and any innocent buyers. </p><p> </p><p>At the very least, people will agree it’s stupid that buying a bottle of swiftness has the same punishment as buying a bottle of harming. </p><p> </p><p>It’s not perfect, and I know I’m not the first guy to try and put in place a plan like this, but unlike those guys, I actually plan to go through with it. I mean, I know I got suspended for this once or twice in high school but-“</p><p> </p><p>“So you’re really doing this?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah!”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh. Wow, okay. This is good. I didn’t expect it, but this is great, Wilbur! You really sound like you mean business.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks. I do. I’m actually really excited about this. I know you’re really busy about to go back to work and everything but I wanted to talk it over with you. Plus, you know, free legal advice I-“</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur cut off his own joke at the sound of a door opening and closing in the back. That <em> feeling </em> came flooding back, rising in his throat like bile. He forced it back down. God, he was tentative today. </p><p> </p><p>“Hello? Wilbur? Did I lose you again?”</p><p> </p><p>“I- uh- I’m gonna have to call you back, dad.”</p><p> </p><p>He hung up the phone before Phil had a chance to respond, not because of anything Phil had done or would say, just because he felt he really needed to hurry. Adrenaline was coursing through him as he fumbled to get his notebook and phone in his coat. He’d just barely gotten them out of his hands when he heard an unfamiliar voice behind him.</p><p> </p><p>“Who- who are you?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur froze. Oh. Oh god. Was he being robbed? Who was this person? Did they break in? They must have. Nobody used the back door anymore, not in years, not even employees. Wilbur had basically forgotten it existed. </p><p> </p><p>The guy was standing behind him. He’d asked a question. Wilbur needed to answer, he couldn’t just stand there forever. He held his breath and turned around. The voice belonged to a man in a black and red hoodie. He was shorter than Wilbur, as were most people, not very buff or violent looking, he had glasses perched on his face and his hands in his hoodie’s pockets. He even seemed a little nervous but still, there was just something about him that oozed terror. </p><p> </p><p>“Umm, hi?” the man asked, his tone of voice wasn’t really threatening.</p><p> </p><p>They stared at each other for a little bit. Wilbur blinked. Right! Right, he needed to answer.</p><p> </p><p>“I work here!” He said suddenly, making the stranger jump. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh! Okay. Well, uh, hi. I said that already. Sorry, I- look, you know I’m only here because I’m desperate. This isn’t exactly-“</p><p> </p><p>Oh god, he <em> was </em>being robbed. The guy was really bad at it though, he clearly didn’t <em>want </em>to be there. Shit. What should he do? Give him a chance to back out? How?</p><p> </p><p>“We’re closed!” Wilbur blurted out. “I mean, sorry, what are you doing here? We’re closed.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m…” the stranger tailed off. He glanced around, confused like he was considering something. “I’m… Halo. I’m here for the- for the... the <em>muffins. </em>” </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur stared, blank-faced. “What?”</p><p> </p><p>Before any more questions could be asked they were both startled by another voice cutting through the air.</p><p> </p><p>“Ey! Wilbur! Friend! What are you still doing here, buddy? Your shift ended like forty minutes ago!”</p><p> </p><p>Quackity had come in through the back door while “Halo” was talking. </p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, Q. I mean, boss. I was just closing. I had a customer stay late, Tommy actually, he got hurt and- I mean, I was going to call you but then I’d said I’d talk with my dad and forgot and-“</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, don’t worry about it! Don’t <em> worry. </em> You should probably go now though.” Quackity had on a big and loud grin that drowned out anyone else’s concern, which was pretty normal for him. </p><p> </p><p>“I haven’t finished-“</p><p> </p><p>“Will! Wilbur. I said it’s fine, man. You’re fine, my man.”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s this Halo guy-“ Wilbur pointed to the hoodie man.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah! I get it. You’re probably both <em> super </em>confused. See, this is part of why we ask you to leave <em> on time</em>, Wilbur. Sometimes we have personal clients show up. Look,” he turned to Halo and put a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder “this is Wilbur. He practically runs the shop. He works in the music store during <em> open hours</em>.” </p><p> </p><p>Halo nodded, a look of understanding spreading across his face but laced with something like concern, as though he’d nearly stepped on a snake.</p><p> </p><p>Quackity turned to Wilbur, now pointing at Halo. </p><p> </p><p>“This is a good friend of mine. You see, his buddy is ill. Bad accident, got a broken leg and it’s taking a bitch of a time to heal-“</p><p> </p><p>“Language.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut the fuck up, Bad.”</p><p> </p><p>Bad? Wilbur thought his name was Halo.</p><p> </p><p>“Anyway, he just came by to get some- uh…“</p><p> </p><p>“Muffins!”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that seriously what you’re- I mean, right, <em> muffins</em>. Muffins for Sketchy.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s Skeppy.”</p><p> </p><p>“…Right.” </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur swore he heard Quackity mumble “who cares” under his breath. He didn’t really seem to be all that friendly with his “friend” but then again, this is <em> Quackity</em>. Flirts with his enemies, bullies his friends, as far as Wilbur had ever been able to tell, none of his reactions matched up with what he thought of you. Inconsistent interactions were kind of par for the course. </p><p> </p><p>“Anyway, he was supposed to wait <em> in the back </em>for me or Schlatt to come by.” He suddenly dropped his hyper cheerfulness to give both of them a serious glance. “You’re both very lucky it was me today and not Schlatt, by the way.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur shuddered. Yeah, Schlatt was a nice guy, pretty funny, but he could be <em>scary </em>when unhappy. The stranger (Halo? Bad?) also seemed unsettled at the thought of facing him, in fact, he seemed rather terrified. </p><p> </p><p>“Anyways!” Quackity jumped back into his cheery persona. “Goodbye Wilbur!  I’ll finish up here for you! You aren’t getting any overtime!” Quackity roughly shoved Wilbur out the door and slammed it behind him.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur stood outside for a moment, letting the chill wind lightly burn his skin. </p><p> </p><p>Welp. That happened. </p><p> </p><p>It was almost comical. Actually, it <em> was </em>comical, like something out of a cartoon. Wilbur felt like he shouldn’t be able to help but laugh, but he could. In fact, despite how humorous the whole situation was and how good-natured he usually was he didn’t find it funny at all. He shook his head for what felt like the millionth time. What was <em>with </em>this impending dread that kept washing over him? It was starting to get on his nerves... or maybe it <em>was</em> his nerves? </p><p> </p><p>Whatever. He was still going through with it. </p><p> </p><p>He checked his phone again. Technoblade wanted to have dinner together to congratulate Phil. That sounded nice. He sent a reply saying he’d be there. He could give Tommy his phone back then, too. Perfect. </p><p> </p><p>Niki had work still and probably so did Fundy. Wilbur didn't even know where Eret worked but even if they were free they'd have to wait for the others. He wondered if they could meet up before dinner, share the news that he was officially going through with running. He guessed he should head back to his apartment, actually, maybe they could meet there. Yeah, that sounded good. He sent Niki a text asking her to see if the other two were comfortable meeting up there and began walking home, still ignoring the melancholy. </p><p>He jokingly mused about writing a song about it but quickly abandoned that train of thought. The humor was hollow and the inspiration was weak. It felt like he was wearing a mask made of his own face.</p><p> </p><p>He shook his head, <em>again. </em></p><p>Ugh, something was just wrong today.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You ever get jabbed in the temple before? Hurts a lot more than you think. My sister used to do it to me but never got in trouble because she "only poked me." A lot of the interactions in here are inspired by my siblings, actually.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. As Weird A Day As Any</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Technoblade meets up with his ex-client to return some of his belongings.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fyi, everyone is human. I know that kind of seems like a given because it’s in the AA world but I wanted to clarify. Everyone has something in reference to their inhuman skins. </p><p>- Technoblade has prominent bottom teeth that mildly resemble tusks, his nails are a little long but dull and painted a black-brown (the color of hooves), and of course the pink hair. </p><p>- Phil’s cloak has a pattern resembling an elytra on the back. </p><p>- Bad’s hoodie has horns on the hoods and a demon tail design on the back. </p><p>- Fundy’s Hat has fox ears stitched onto it (with thread on the side, it’s not like a headband with cat ears sticking out) and his jacket has a foxtail design on the back.</p><p>- Eret has pale pale pale grey-blue eyes, as close to actually being colorless as humanly possible.</p><p>Anyways, enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Technoblade stood waiting outside an old building somewhere at the edge of the city. He thinks it’s a community house of some sorts but it looked pretty abandoned. Well, abandoned by most civilized people at least. There was plenty of evidence of people using it, he didn’t even think the doors were locked but he was not going inside if he didn’t have to. </p><p> </p><p>Judging by the types of activities that take place in empty buildings like this and the likely hood of a rat infestation or two he bet the smell inside was not something he’d want to smell. Still, just by glancing through the dirty windows, he could make out plenty of clues.</p><p> </p><p>Litter and graffiti nearly covered the walls and floors (though what appeared to be the floor’s original design might look better that way) and if you paid extra close attention you could make out scorch marks in certain areas from what appeared to be fireworks of some kind. Between that, the cigarettes and lighters discarded haphazardly around, and the fact nobody was keeping this building up to code, Technoblade wondered how long it would take for this place to burn to the ground.</p><p> </p><p>Not long, he thought, considering who he was meeting here. </p><p> </p><p>His recently freed client, some pyromaniac named Sapnap, had asked him to retrieve some evidence used in his case. Even though Technoblade was a lawyer and his job was <em>done </em> (a fact he’d pointed out many times in vain) he and his buddies insisted.  Why they couldn’t be bothered to just do it themselves Technoblade would never know.</p><p> </p><p>Actually, that’s not true. He had a pretty good guess why Sapnap had wanted to avoid the police. He was a guilty man walking free. Technoblade had managed to get him a completely innocent verdict by convincing the court that while he <em>was </em>a firebug, he just wasn’t the firebug that had been playing with fire on that company’s property. The charges were ridiculous really, he’d just been screwing around in a huge empty parking tower, far away from anything flammable and where he wouldn’t be dangerous to anyone. </p><p> </p><p>The whole “private property” thing was also stupid because everyone knows everyone screws around in that lot. The company hadn’t actually used it in <em>years</em>. Hell, he and Wilbur would fuck around there sometimes, when they were teenagers Wilbur had even set off explosions there. The guy just got unlucky.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not that he condoned the Sapnap’s actions, it’s just sometimes people do “bad” things and don’t need to be punished for them. Not only that, he’d just rather people be punished for things they actually did/plan to do. </p><p> </p><p>If he’d actually done something <em>wrong </em> wrong, Techno would not have taken his case, or he would’ve taken it and then lost. It had happened twice where he’d taken a client just to make sure they ended up found guilty. It wasn’t a very smart choice career-wise but he didn’t regret it for a second. People request him because of the reputation he had for getting guilty people innocent verdicts but that reputation was wrong. He got innocent people innocent verdicts, guilty people <em>guilty </em>verdicts, and he gave people who deserved it a chance. Again, he’d rather see people punished for crimes they actually intended to commit. </p><p> </p><p>He knew he, on some level, had no right to play judge like that but if he didn’t, who would? Actual judges weren’t all-knowing (many of them were straight-up duds), they relied entirely on lawyers to tell the most convincing story. So, in a way, he was just doing his job.</p><p> </p><p>His hand tightened around the headband he was holding.</p><p> </p><p>There was a <em> reason </em>he’d become a defense attorney. </p><p> </p><p>He closed his eyes as fragments of memory overtook him.</p><p><em> Sitting in a courtroom. Not like when he went along with Phil. Not like when he was preparing to take on a case himself. He wasn’t curiously looking around. He wasn’t watching in awe as sides shot evidence back and forth. He was staring at his hands. He’d held his head so low for so long his neck cramped and ached but he only shrunk further into himself. He was on trial here. He was on trial for attempted murder. </em> Murder<b><em>. </em> </b> <em> It was just a fight. He hadn’t planned anything. He hadn’t intended anything. The guy just wouldn’t leave him alone. He wouldn’t leave Phil alone. He’d been threatening Technoblade for years. He’d hit back. He’d fought just as hard as Techno had and he wouldn’t let go. The only real reason Technoblade was on trial for was </em> winning<em>. Oh god, why was everyone staring at him? The pressure was building. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure turns coal into diamonds, but it only crushes people. His ribs felt like they were cracking. His chest couldn’t rise properly. He shouldn’t be here. He knew what he did, he knew he was guilty, but </em><b><em>he shouldn’t be here.</em> </b></p><p> </p><p>Technoblade jumped at the sound of his phone buzzing. </p><p>Phil had texted him.</p><p> </p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p>
  <b>[Family Chat]</b>
</p><p> </p><p><b>Philza:</b> Hello boys </p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> Whats up</p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p> </p><p>Techno vented for a while about this client being inconvenient even after the case ended. Tommy butted in with a few remarks that made Technoblade snort. </p><p> </p><p>As he described them he thought about just how odd their little trio was. Sapnap was his client but the way they all showed up and spoke for one another it felt like all three of them were on trial. He knew Sapnap’s name because of legal reasons, and the glasses one (George was it?) because he’d been the one to pay but the green jacket guy’s name evaded him.</p><p> </p><p>He was clearly the leader, in fact, Technoblade was pretty sure it had been through his advice that Sapnap avoided the police office. He didn’t seem to be wasn’t the type to “lay low” and he’d really wanted his stuff back. It had been mask dude who’d spoken to Technoblade about him getting the things for them. He had a habit of speaking for both of them. It had happened once or twice where one of them corrected something he’d said in their name but in general, they didn’t seem to mind. </p><p> </p><p>There was something just a little bit… off… about him though. He wasn’t any weirder than any of the other people Techno ran into during trials, he was probably more normal than Technoblade himself, but still. There was just something in the way he carried himself that whispered <em>he </em>was the one in control and knew what you didn’t. </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade found it kind of familiar, he’d been told that he held an “I’m the one who knows how to win and who has the power to do it” aura (by Tubbo of all people) so he guessed he found a kind of kinship with the weirdo. It was a useful way to carry yourself if you knew how to use it. </p><p> </p><p>The other two seemed exact opposites but at the same time clearly worked well together. Sapnap just had zero impulse control and seemed like the kind of guy who’s never <em> been </em> to jail but definatly should have (a fitting assessment considering the circumstance, Techno realized) whereas George just seemed like a genuinely okay dude. It seemed like the only reason George was there was because his friends dragged him into it and he followed willingly. In the end, they all were similar enough but different enough to blend together perfectly, like a well-picked color pallet. </p><p> </p><p>His phone started ringing, Sapnap was calling. </p><p> </p><p>Techno texted a quick goodbye to his family and answered. </p><p> </p><p>“Hello?”</p><p> </p><p>“Heeey!”</p><p> </p><p>The voice on the other end did not belong to Sapnap’s, although it was familiar. Okay, since they weren’t his clients (or, client, Sapnap was the only one on trial) anymore it didn’t matter who he spoke to. </p><p> </p><p>“Ah, George, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah! So, uh, sorry we’re late.”</p><p> </p><p>Techno checked the time. It was only about 10 minutes after they’d agreed to meet, but still, he’d been standing out here in the early-day cold for 10 minutes.</p><p> </p><p>“I hadn’t noticed.”</p><p> </p><p>He really hadn’t, but he guessed his voice had been mistaken for sarcasm because George seemed to panic a little.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, uh, y-yeah, yeah… sorry. We ran into a bit of- I mean it’s really not my- hey, HEY!”</p><p> </p><p>There was a commotion on the other end of the line, as though someone had knocked the phone out of his hands. While Techno waited patiently for someone to pick it up again he could make out bits of a muffled argument going on.</p><p> </p><p>“-elling him its YOUR fault-”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re DRIVING you can’t-“</p><p> </p><p>“Gimme the-“</p><p> </p><p>“-ROAD!”</p><p> </p><p>There was a swerving sound and honking before finally, it seemed someone had the phone properly back in their hand. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, it’s Sapnap! Sorry to keep you waiting, George overslept-”</p><p> </p><p>There was a faint “Oh, come on, it’s not JUST my fault” from the other end.</p><p> </p><p>“-and he was supposed to come to pick me up. We’re almost there. You’re at the old community house, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“The one with the worst floor design in history?”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, it’s like someone made it out of work desks!”</p><p> </p><p>“Then, yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good. Dream lives closer so he’s just walking and is probably going to be there before us.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay!”</p><p> </p><p>There was an awkward pause before Sapnap realized the conversation was over and hung up.</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade chewed on the inside of his mouth, entertaining himself with worst-case scenarios. Who was Dream? Probably green-jacket-mask-guy, but still, did he really trust that? No. He honestly didn’t trust any of his clients and these guys were <em>certainly </em>no exception. It’s not that they were any more or less odd than the average client he got, they just had their own special brand of odd.  Maybe it was the combination but individually they were off as well; one was too normal, one was too wild, and one was too unknown. It was almost pretentious how mysterious he was. Technoblade thought about punching him. He didn’t really want to, just thought of it. </p><p> </p><p>If something DID go wrong he was more than capable of handling himself. Turns out years of “finding good ways to channel your too-big emotions” through various combat sports forges a pretty damn good fighter, combine that with his size and the fact he wasn’t an <em>idiot </em>and he could get himself out of a fight he got himself into. Still, this whole situation was just odd. </p><p> </p><p>Why’d he even agree to get their stuff back, anyway? </p><p> </p><p>In all honesty, it was just because they asked nicely. He imagined them all huddled around the phone while Dream asked him to get Sapnap’s things, probably whispering advice to each other like teenagers. It was… endearing. They’d said please, he’d said “fine,” and now it was too late to back out. Whatever.</p><p> </p><p>Techno checked his phone while he waited, gratefully reminded why he had texts from Tommy on silent as the chat was spammed by Tommy’s attempts to get Wilbur’s attention.</p><p> </p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p>
  <b>[Family Chat]</b>
</p><p> </p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> will</p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> will</p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> will</p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> will</p><p><b>TommyInnit:</b> DAD WILBUR JUST HIT ME </p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> I DID NOT </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> I JSUT FLICKED HIM </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> FOR SPAMNING </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> when I was LITERALLY half a meter away </p><p> </p><p><b>TommyInnit: </b>ASSULT</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>he fucking made eye contact with me while typing</p><p> </p><p><b>Philza:</b> 😆</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> L</p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade snorted. His brothers were idiots… he missed them. He hadn’t seen any of his family in a while. Work had kept him swamped for the past two-ish weeks. He’d <em>spoken </em>to Phil plenty, of course, but they hadn’t really been <em>together </em>much and he’d barely talked with Tommy or Wilbur. </p><p> </p><p>Actually, with Phil officially going back to work in a few days, this was the perfect time to get together. They could have a full-on family party. He thought briefly about inviting them to his house but quickly brushed the idea away. His house was a simple two-story townhouse with a ground floor (that had every room but the kitchen converted into office space) and the basement which held his bed, a punching bag, and a safe full of personal belongings. He… also used his basement for working so it was also an organized mess. Basically, everything was covered in papers that he did <em>not </em>trust Tommy to be near and that he couldn’t be bothered to clean within a day. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe they could meet at his- he means, Phil’s house. Despite having moved out ages ago he still found it difficult to not think of the place as “his house.” Anytime he wasn’t at work or home he was hanging out there, helping Phil, or just chatting. Same with Wilbur, although Will was much more independent than he was. As far as he knew Tommy planned to just live there forever. Phil never minded. It was the family house, he supposed, which made it all the more perfect of a place.</p><p> </p><p>Was it tacky to throw a get-together at a house you don’t own? Maybe a little, but he doubted Phil would mind. Again, it had never really stopped being HIS home. Besides-</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade halted his train of thought as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He glanced to his side and his heart jumped a little at a figure walking into view. Jesus Christ, the man was just walking down the street but Techno managed to get jump-scared. What was this? Slender Man? As the guy got closer the image didn’t get any less creepy. </p><p> </p><p>It was green-guy. “Dream.” He was wearing a familiar green jacket with the hood up, black fingerless gloves, and the mask. Only, today he was wearing it over his face instead of strapped to his side. It was the first time Technoblade had gotten to see it and appreciate its creepiness/goofiness in all its glory. The design wasn’t all-white like he’d thought, there was a simplistic and cartoonish smile painted over it in black. How did he even see in it?</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, Technoblade?”</p><p> </p><p>“How do you even see in that?”</p><p> </p><p>Dream paused, Techno guessed he was caught a little off guard by the question. </p><p> </p><p>“I- uh- oh, I guess you’re not used to seeing me in my mask.” </p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I didn’t wear it when we were in your office building or court because, well, it’s pretty suspicious to wear a mask in a setting like that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you probably could have gotten away with it though. Of all the jokers and freaks I’ve seen, I promise people would barely bat an eye.”</p><p> </p><p>They stared at each other for a moment. This happened quite often when Technoblade had conversations; people wouldn’t realize he was done talking and wait, but he’d said all he was going to say. If they wanted more conversation it was up to them. He found if he kept his mouth shut people would figure this out eventually and either come up with more things to talk about or leave. “NPC energy” Phil calls it. </p><p> </p><p>Dream was figuring it out.</p><p> </p><p>“…So, uh, you gonna ask?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ask what?”</p><p> </p><p>“About the mask. Like, why I wear it or something?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Dream seemed taken aback. Part of Technoblade was inclined to think he was offended, but the rest of him recognized it was probably just neutral surprise that he wasn’t curious. He guessed the guy had plenty of conversations about it and was used to going through an explanation every time, so having someone shut that down probably threw him off. </p><p> </p><p>They stood in silence again for a little moment, Technoblade opting to stare at the empty road while Dream kept looking at Techno. And then he <em>kept</em> looking... it started to get on his nerves. Even with a mask in the way, he could feel eyes burning into his skin, studying him. Sizing him up? What was this guy’s deal?</p><p> </p><p>“I <em> would </em>like to know, however,” Techno abruptly cut through quiet “why you keep looking at me. I’m sitting here, being polite, and you're just gawking. You think a mask is gonna stop me from noticing? I can see its face looking at me. Your neck is craning, you’re not exactly subtle.”</p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t trying to be sneaky. I was just looking at- you look <em>way </em>different. Sorry for staring.”</p><p> </p><p>“…heh?”</p><p> </p><p>“You look different than all the other the times I’ve seen you. I almost didn’t recognize you.”</p><p> </p><p>Techno looked at himself. </p><p> </p><p>He was wearing black slacks and a plain pink shirt covered by his big light-blue winter coat. That was a change from his work suit but surely no one expected him to wear a suit all the time? His hair was down, hanging lazily to below his knees. He usually put it up in a braid or bun while with clients but it was still very obviously long and <em>pink,</em> one of the rarest hair colors in the world, how do you confuse <em>that? </em> He was wearing some jewelry but he wore his necklace while working. </p><p> </p><p>The only thing he could think of that made him unrecognizable was he didn’t have on his glasses, but- really? He was a tall, brawny, pink-and-long-haired man with what he’d been told was a pretty recognizable glare. Did he seriously seem <em>that </em>different, even to someone who’d only seen him a few times?</p><p> </p><p>“HEH?” </p><p> </p><p>“Really! You look so different than when you’re working. Less, uh, threatening.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh. Ok, thanks? You look absolutely recognizable and creepy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, uh- you know what? That’s fair.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really though, between the jacket and the mask, who’s gonna misidentify you? You ever want to commit a crime, just take them off. Literally, you in like t-shirt and jeans is a perfect disguise.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hah! What a lawyer you are. I know you’re not like a cop or anything but, <em> wow.” </em></p><p> </p><p>“To be clear, that was a joke.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know. It’s just funny coming from a man of the law.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not my job to uphold the law.”</p><p> </p><p>Dream clearly was going to inquire what he meant but their conversation was interrupted as a car drove by, parked, and two people got out and began running down the pavement.</p><p> </p><p>“Dream! Technoblade! We’re here!” George happily called as they approached. Sapnap was behind him, a little less hurried with his hands in his pockets.</p><p> </p><p>“Did we keep you waiting too long?”</p><p> </p><p>“And do you have my stuff?”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade handed over the headband. Sapnap held it for a moment, smiling, before putting it on. </p><p> </p><p>“What about the flamethrower?”</p><p> </p><p>“I did not get the flamethrower.”</p><p> </p><p>“Damn. It was really cool. You really couldn’t get it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. Since the only reason I got anything was that it belonged to you in the first place, and that flame thrower doesn’t belong to you because it was used to commit the arson, and since <em> you didn’t do any arson, </em> <b> <em>hint hint, </em> </b>I didn’t bother asking for something you should have no reason to want.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh… haha… yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was a goddamn miracle they’d won the trial. (And that miracle’s name was Technoblade, he was awesome.)</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry, Sapnap.” George put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We can build another one. You can bur-”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Guys.” </em>Dream hissed. </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade couldn’t see exactly but guessed Dream was shooting a cautious glare towards him. Oh, he was worried he would tell on them, that’s cute. Also, stupid. He’d just gone through a whole trial to keep them off the hook. Why on earth would he bother now? </p><p> </p><p>Technically it had never actually been officially noted between them that he knew Sapnap was guilty. When they’d come up with some not-fake-but-not-exactly-relevant evidence he’d used it carefully enough to bring light to some unimportant parts and cast a shadow on some important things. After that, he’d kind of assumed they’d figured he was on their side. Maybe they thought they’d simply gotten lucky… or maybe it was their goal to fool him and they had just thought he was an idiot.</p><p> </p><p> He could try to hint them in now, he guessed, but it was whatever if they caught on or not.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not your lawyer anymore but as a lawyer in general,” he began carefully “I’d advise you not to do that. If you do, I’d advise you to not test it anywhere in public, even places that appear to be abandoned or a free-for-all. I’d also advise you to not loudly discuss your plans in front of people you <em>don’t trust.”</em> He put a bit of an emphasis on that last part, trying to signal he thought that they knew he knew. </p><p> </p><p>The group just kind of… stared at him for a moment, computing what he’d said. </p><p> </p><p>Then Sapnap lightly scoffed, “You really are just an in-it-for-the-paycheck type, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>He seemed a little taken aback at the immediate and blunt response. </p><p> </p><p>“No? Then what could-” He puzzled a bit before hostile realization came across his face. “Oh. Is this supposed to be some kind of blackmail situation?”</p><p> </p><p>Dream subtly moved in front of them. It wasn’t obvious but there was something about the air around him, even though his body language was calm and relaxed and his face was covered, Technoblade recognized he was ready to fight.</p><p> </p><p>“Uhhh, That’s also gonna be a no.”</p><p> </p><p>Sapnap seemed to be genuinely lost now. </p><p> </p><p>“I- um. Okay. Then… why?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sometimes people should get away with things.”</p><p> </p><p>Another pause.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” George chimed in finally, “so you’re like a sympathetic guy giving people second chances and all that? Or do you just… hate the law?”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade shrugged. They stood there in silence for a little, again. Techno tapped his heel against the ground. </p><p> </p><p>“So, we done? Can I go home now?”</p><p> </p><p>It was Dream who responded, seemingly having let his guard down again, at least a little. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, of course.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you… need a ride or anything?” George piped up as he began walking away. “It’s cold.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nah, I just parked a ways away. Got kind of lost looking for this place. Don’t worry, I don’t mind the cold, I’ll get to my car just fine.” </p><p> </p><p>That was a half-lie. He <em>had </em>gotten a bit turned around and had parked a bit far away, but he wasn’t going to his car. He was walking to Phil’s house, which wasn’t too far from here. They didn’t need to know that though, so, whatever. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, okay. Goodbye then, and thank you!” </p><p> </p><p>“No problem!” He called over his shoulder as Dream and Sapnap also shouted their gratitude. </p><p> </p><p>Man, what a day. He checked his phone, it was barely noon. Jeez. He rubbed his face and stretched his arms, thinking about what Dream had said. “Less threatening” when he’s not working, huh? Does that mean Dream had found him threatening? He smiled. It wasn’t a new experience, being told he was threatening or scary or imposing, but this time felt nice. Usually, he was more-or-less indifferent, it was just something he was, not good or bad (although it could be useful). He realized this time felt different because Dream wasn’t telling him he was threatening, he was telling him he <em>wasn’t. </em></p><p> </p><p>He chuckled to himself. </p><p> </p><p>“Less-threatening.” </p><p> </p><p>But why? Was it honestly just the change in outfit and hairstyle? He pondered for a moment as he walked, thinking about what was different. No, he decided. It wasn’t the clothes. Dream had caught him in the middle of planning a dinner for Phil. He was thinking about his family. He simpered, almost grinning. His family made him soft. God, that was so corny. He could never tell anyone. Ever. Well, maybe Phil, but Wilbur and Tommy would have to die before they could know. </p><p> </p><p>As he got closer to Phil’s house he realized he should probably actually set up the dinner before he started working on it.</p><p> </p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p>
  <b>[Family Chat]</b>
</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> How do you guys feel about having a dinner to celebrate Phil going back to work?</p><p> </p><p><b>Philza: </b>Aww, thank you Techno! </p><p><b>Philza: </b>That’d be wonderful</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Technoblade: 👍</b>
</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>Tommy? Wilbur?</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>How about you guys?</p><p> </p><p><b>Philza: </b>Wilbur’s in a bit of trouble at work</p><p><strong>Philza:</strong> I just got off the phone with him</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>wow</p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> looser</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>does he still have Tommy’s phone?</p><p> </p><p><b>Philza: </b>I assume</p><p><b>Philza: </b>or else Tommy would have plenty to say right now</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>well, he lives there</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>he has to come </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>Oh yeah, I’m on my way over now</p><p> </p><p><b>Philza: </b>How close are you?</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>Pretty close</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>I’m walking</p><p> </p><p><b>Philza: </b>That’s a long walk!</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>not from my house </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>I’m coming from nearby </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>Met up with my client </p><p> </p><p><b>Philza: </b>Oh! How’d that go?</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>One sec</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>Ill tell you when I gwt there</p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> Im really close</p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade could see the house from where he was walking. He slipped his phone into his pocket, his fingers were getting too cold to properly type. He brought his hands up to his face and huffed warm air into them. He couldn’t wait to get home, get a pat from Philza, and start cooking. Have things be normal for once.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not that he detested his weird life or anything, it’s just he desperately appreciated a change of pace from all the crazy. It should say enough that “normal” was considered a break from his daily struggles. </p><p> </p><p>Life as a defense attorney was, apparently, much wilder than that of a prosecutor. Being at Phil’s side nearly all his life had NOT prepared him. He gracefully accepted the incoming flow of “what the fuck” however, he was barely phased by anything anymore. Like today, for example, turning over a headband to a masked mystery danger guy, a zero impulse arsonist, and a polite police-shy colorblind man outside an abandoned community house was a pretty normal experience, all things considered.</p><p> </p><p>Whatever, just as weird a day as any. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Some fun design facts: </p><p>Techno’s got a crown hair-clip he’s always wearing. His suit is pink. He has two coats: one arctic blue and one royal red, they both have the fur lining like his cloak in canon. </p><p>Technoblade’s necklace is the shape of the Arctic Empire’s symbol. It’s just silver metal on a short chain, he wears it very often but it’s not like an “I never take it off” thing. Phil has a matching ring. This is not really plot relevant but I thought you should know.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Tommy's Lost His Discs Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tommy plans how to get his disc back.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Question: Would you guys rather have shorter chapters and more frequent updates or longer chapters and less frequent updates? It'll probably not make that much of a difference but it would be something I'd like to keep in mind when I plan chapters. </p><p>Also, do you usually read on your computer or your phone? I ask because I worry my formatting is hard to read but still hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy was pissed. </p><p> </p><p>Okay, he was <em> usually </em> pissed, but right now, as he walked away from a back-alley music shop, he was seething.</p><p> </p><p>Not because he’d just been physically shoved out the door and then had the blinds closed on his face (although that would have gotten anyone at least a little upset). No. He was pissed because <em> he’d lost his damn pin, </em> <b> <em>again, </em> </b>and Wilbur wouldn’t even give him a second to give it back! Yeah, he was gonna get in trouble at work and all that, but it would have only taken a second to get it!</p><p> </p><p>It was Wilbur’s fault he’d lost it in the first place, having startled him and caused him to drop it. It was just really bad luck it had managed to fall right in between the glass of the display case. What were the fucking chances? </p><p> </p><p>Then, after he asked him to open the case, Wilbur had just taken his phone! So then he’d been too busy trying to get his phone back to focus on getting the pin, and <em> then </em> he was too busy focusing on the immense pain in his arm (from falling, from trying to get his phone back) to focus on focusing on getting it back!</p><p> </p><p>He rubbed his arm. It wasn’t <em> that </em>bad. It probably wasn’t going to bruise, and even if it did he always had plenty of scrapes and scratches from running and climbing all over town, but he’d been on the floor in pain and Wilbur had just laughed until he decided to shoo him out, not letting him get a word in about his pin.</p><p> </p><p>Ugh. He guessed it was <em> kind of </em> his fault for having it unclipped in the first place but, come <em> on, </em>was taking it off to fidget with now and then really something to place blame on him?</p><p> </p><p>No! Okay, maybe. Probably not, though. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy knew he wasn’t the most organized kid- he means man- he misplaced and forgot about things a lot, but he always tried to be super careful about his disc pins when he was outside his house.</p><p> </p><p>He always knew where one was, at least. Safely with Tubbo. Tubbo didn’t lose stuff, not important things anyway. He still had the little bee plushie Tommy had gifted him on their first meeting. Tommy didn’t really remember it, they were both really small.</p><p> </p><p>It had been recently after he'd been taken in by Phil. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy and his new family were taking a walk and Tubbo had yelled at them from a cardboard box left by the side of the road. He’d apparently noticed the plushie bee Tommy held (one of a few welcome home presents and a hand-me-down from Wil and Techno). </p><p> </p><p>Phil said it was a good thing he’d called for the bee because otherwise, they might have completely missed him and who knows what could have happened if they hadn’t gotten him off that road. He was tucked away to the side, yeah, but he was also a toddler completely abandoned for anyone to come and take.</p><p> </p><p>Even though he knew Tubbo was going to an orphanage, Tommy had kind of thought he’d eventually just go live with them. After all, that’s what happened to him so that was his understanding of how families worked. He’d asked Phil where his new brother was and every time Phil would say “we took him to the orphanage, Tommy.” And Tommy would throw a fit because he <em>knew </em>he was at the orphanage but when was he coming to live with <em>them?  </em></p><p> </p><p>Tubbo later DID come over, for playdates. Phil said they let him stay over so much because it was good for the children to have friends outside the orphanage and they wanted to encourage the one he and Tommy had started. </p><p> </p><p>They ended up being in the same school, though usually not the same class (which maybe was a good thing, neither of them would have learned anything). Eventually, they were old enough to just visit each other’s houses by themselves so they spent as much time together as they could. Around three years ago they even ended up going to a camp together, which is where Tommy got his pins. </p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t an artsy-type. The closest thing he had to an artistic side was he loved to play with clay, but even then he just made grey towers that Technoblade would make fun of. He didn’t usually participate in the arts and crafts parts of camp. On that day, though, something just inspired him. Maybe it was the fact they were using metals instead of paper, maybe it was the appeal of getting to wear what you made instead of just sticking it on a shelf or wall, who knows. He just decided to put his <em>all </em>into it.</p><p> </p><p>He chose a circle and carefully morphed it into the image of a perfect little music disc. </p><p> </p><p>Phil used to have a record player in storage. Tommy asked what it was one day and when Phil explained Tommy thought it was so cool he moved it to his room. A little while later he saw some big discs in a pawn shop window. He’d tugged on Phil’s sleeve and asked if that was what went in the player and when Phil said yes he’d marched right in there and gotten them. (Well, he’d asked Phil to get them.) </p><p> </p><p>He immediately invited Tubbo over and they listened to them for <em>hours </em>while they hung out. It was odd music, no lyrics or anything, and it seemed to just be the one song on each disc, but they loved it. The discs themselves were in pretty good shape despite being old and not having a case or anything. The owner said they were probably personal recordings of some kind. They’d been in the shop for a long time and were basically just used as decorations, they hadn’t expected to ever sell them.</p><p> </p><p>That just made them more mysterious and awesome in Tommy’s eyes. He didn’t ever want to learn where they came from (though he probably couldn’t even if he tried), he just loved them for what they became to him.</p><p> </p><p>That’s why he decided to make a disc at camp that day. He even gave it purple and white stripes in the middle, just like one of the ones he had at home. When Tubbo came over to do the activity had also chosen a circle, which Tommy didn’t think anything of until he noticed Tubbo looking over his shoulder. When asked what Tubbo was doing Tubbo responded by proudly showing him a tiny replica of the other disc he had, this one green. </p><p> </p><p>Now Tubbo had the one he made and he wore the one Tubbo made. </p><p> </p><p>They’d touch them up now and then; redo the colors, attach a new needle, etc. but for a summer camp art project they held up <em>incredibly </em>well and both boys wore them everywhere with pride. Tommy valued his pin just as much as he did the discs it was based on. He put it on every morning and swore he wouldn’t lose it.</p><p> </p><p>…And then he’d usually lose it about once a week.</p><p> </p><p>He always found it again after an hour or two of searching, but he panicked every time he misplaced it, and he misplaced it a <em> lot. </em> He <em>tried </em>to set it down on the same spot every night but still ended up misplacing it a lot. He never took it off outside his house except to fidget with it sometimes but he <em>always </em>puts it back on. He’s never set it down while outside his home, it was always either in his hand or pinned to his shirt.</p><p> </p><p>The only reason he didn’t have it now was Wilbur had made him drop it. </p><p> </p><p>At least this time it wasn’t <em>lost</em>. He knew exactly where it was and could get Wilbur to help get it back. Wilbur knew how important it was to Tommy so once he got a chance to actually explain himself he was sure Wilbur would take him. Although, that was probably going to be like, tomorrow, and since Wilbur was such a pussy about his bosses he probably wouldn’t make an exception to let Tommy in early. That’s fine, he guessed. He knew where it was and it’s not like anybody was going to move it (or even notice it in the display case). He could wait. He could be patient… <em> or </em>he could just steal Wilbur’s keys and get it tonight. </p><p> </p><p>Yeah. Fuck Wilbur. He was getting his pin back tonight.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not like Wilbur could even be mad about it, he used to steal shit all the time. He still does, actually, just… less. He got better at hiding it. Tommy’s pretty sure he’s the only one who knows how much crime his brother does, however, it’s entirely probable Phil knows but just keeps quiet since Wilbur got smart and it turned mostly harmless. Still, there was a possibility for blackmail, if he even needed it. He was pretty sure he could be in and out before anyone even noticed. </p><p> </p><p>He was starting to get giddy as his mindset quickly changed from wanting to get his pin back to being excited at how fun it would be to pull this off. He should do it late at night, he decided. Sneak out while everyone’s asleep. He snuck out plenty already, but not very often. Usually, he liked his sleep more than whatever called him to go out and adventure. He only really did it if there was a specific event he wanted to see. </p><p> </p><p>Once he tried to go get Tubbo on his birthday, but he’d nearly gotten arrested for that. Turns out a tall, shady, figure climbing up an orphanage wall to try to get to one of the kid’s bedroom in the middle of the night was cause for a bit of alarm. He’d gotten into quite a bit of trouble for that one. Even Phil was mad, although it was probably more at the trouble rather than the behavior. </p><p> </p><p>That seemed to be Phil’s general rule; almost anything was fine so long as no one got in trouble or seriously hurt. In fact, Tommy suspected he actually enjoyed his sons' antics. He was probably trying not to laugh on the car ride there. He only got upset at the consequences and the <em>really </em>bad stuff. So, no drugs or kidnapping or anything. Depending on the person/reason he <em>might </em>be able to get away with murder. Maybe. Technoblade probably could. Technoblade got away with everything.</p><p> </p><p>The point is he wasn’t really worried about getting in trouble at home so long as he didn’t get in trouble out of it. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy wanted to plan more about this. He needed to talk to Tubbo. He reached for his phone but grabbed air. He slowed his pace, feeling his other pockets, looking for it, but couldn’t find it. He abruptly stopped.</p><p> </p><p>God damn it. Wilbur still had his phone. </p><p> </p><p>He’d already walked so far away, now he needed to go back just to wait outside for Wilbur to finish up doing his stupid job. Unless... he was already done? How long did it take to close up a store? What if he’d already left and Tommy had walked all the way back for no reason? Tommy guessed he’d just have to find out. It’s not like he could <em>call </em> Wilbur to find out if he was still there. You know what? Maybe he didn’t need his phone. He could walk home and wait for- no, he needed it to talk to Tubbo while he was away on his trip. Ugh, this was so annoying.</p><p> </p><p>He reluctantly turned around to trudge back to the store, griping to himself the whole way.  </p><p> </p><p>His sour mood quickly left him as he turned into the alley, however. He saw the door open (good, Wilbur was still here) and watched Wilbur get shoved out by a man in a blue shirt. As Wilbur turned, clearly looking to say something, the door slammed in his face.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy had to cover his mouth to prevent himself from bursting out laughing. Karma was a bitch... and <em>he</em> was curious. He hid against the wall to gawk at the scene. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur hadn’t seemed to notice he was being watched as he was just standing there, confused. Judging by the way he stood there shaking his head as though he was trying to clear his mind like an etch-a-sketch, Tommy guessed he didn’t have any idea what just happened either.</p><p> </p><p>Interesting.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy ducked out of the alleyway and jogged a ways away to casually sit behind a tree. He waited. After a minute that felt like it went on a little longer than it actually did, Wilbur finally walked out of the alley. Tommy waited a bit before slipping back between the walls and carefully making his way to the music store. There were only three or so buildings in the alley and as far as he could tell none of them were used except the shop, so he was safe from any onlookers inside them.</p><p> </p><p>He could practically smell a fresh new case. Okay, this was more of a single question than a case, but still! He was curious and he was taking this <em>seriously</em>. It was detective time. </p><p> </p><p>No matter what Wilbur or Technoblade said, he knew he was a <em> great </em>detective. He did NOT just call himself that as an excuse to snoop around other people’s business and he <em>certainly </em>had what it took to make it as a real one, even if he maybe got in trouble for breaking and entering one or two times. It didn’t matter, when he was a real detective with a license and shit he could do that all he wanted.</p><p> </p><p>Besides, Phil had taught him how to climb and jump and shit. It was very annoying to have to go work out at first but Phil was adamant that they stay active and Tommy wasn’t joining a sports team so he reluctantly joined in. It became a kind of family activity. He eventually found himself enjoying the obstacle courses and once he saw Wilbur doing cool stunts in the real world he was absolutely sold. Even after Wilbur had broken his leg and mostly stopped, Tommy kept in the habit. There were a lot of good buildings for it around the city and it was fun! </p><p> </p><p>It was also useful. He’d been teaching Tubbo how to do it so they could go roof-jumping together. He was waiting for the day he caught someone red-handed and they tried to run because he was going to kick their ass. Thought you had the jump on Tommy Innit Minecraft? BOOM. He just jumped a fence and now you’re cornered. </p><p> </p><p>It was going to be awesome.</p><p> </p><p>Anyway, the point is if Phil didn’t want Tommy to parkour his way through stopping crime, he should have just let him be lazy. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy, reaching the music shop, ducked below the windows. He tried to discreetly peek through the glass but the curtains were still shut. Damn. Maybe that was for the best, he realized he was in an obviously suspicious position for anyone to walk by the alley and see. He needed to be more stealthy and he also needed to find a way to look inside. Opting to try and kill two birds with one stone he began slinking towards the back of the shop. </p><p> </p><p>Then he heard the back door open.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy froze, a full deer in the headlights. His mind began racing in bullet time. What should he do? <em> What should he do?  </em>What <em>could </em>he do? There was nowhere for him to hide, if he tried to move there’s no way they wouldn’t notice him and realize he was trying to sneak around the back. He couldn’t bail, that was an unsalvageable option. Maybe he could play it off cool? Like he’d been just walking around the back for a reason other than to spy?</p><p> </p><p>He heard voices saying something inaudible, goodbyes of some sorts, but they didn’t sound too friendly to each other. He thought one of the voices sounded kind of familiar...</p><p> </p><p>A man in a black and red hoodie stepped out, a box in hand. Tommy recognized it as one that held drumsticks but the guy was holding it… strangely. Like it was uncomfortable for him just to be carrying it. Like it was a leaky water bottle that was going to spill if he didn’t hold it exactly right. Weird. Tommy was so focused on the off-putting guy and weird box he forgot he nearly wasn’t supposed to be there. This fact came rushing back to him like a hammer to the skull when the man looked at him. His heart hit his throat.</p><p> </p><p>On instinct he burst out “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, you’re <em>terrifying!” </em></p><p> </p><p>The stranger was shocked. He took a step back, hand flying up to protect his box before he registered what Tommy said. If Tommy didn’t know any better, which he didn’t, he’d say it looked like he hurt his feelings. The stranger opened his mouth to say something but instead glanced at his box, put his head down, and hurried past Tommy. Tommy turned to watch him leave and swore he could hear a mumbled “language” as he was passed by. </p><p> </p><p>Well, that was weird. He guessed he <em>had </em>been a bit rude, but it was true. There wasn’t really anything <em>scary </em>about the guy, objectively he looked like a dork, but he just had this… ugh, he didn’t know.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re really fuckin nosey, y’know that?”</p><p> </p><p>“AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!” Tommy screamed in a way that, had anyone else been screaming, he would have described as “like a little bitch.”</p><p> </p><p>Quackity was standing behind him, evidently being the voice he recognized. </p><p> </p><p>“OH MY <em> LORD,” </em> Tommy squeaked <em> “ </em>I mean, uh, ehem, big Q! You startled me.”</p><p> </p><p><em>“Haha! </em>Yeah, I’ll say. You sounded like you a squirrel on helium being murdered. Someone probably heard that and called the cops, I might have to deal with the police now, you fucking bastard.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up.” Tommy punched Quackity’s arm, grinning.</p><p> </p><p>He liked big Q. Ever since he (and that other guy) had taken over the shop and become Wilbur’s boss he’d been like a kind-of third big brother to Tommy. He sometimes came to hang out with him and Tubbo and it was always a blast. He even came on a trip along with Phil and Wilbur one time. He never really came by when Techno was around though, Tommy wondered why. Maybe he had a crush. They liked to jokingly rub in Wilbur’s face the fact that Tommy preferred Quackity over Wilbur, although that wasn’t true.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy blinked.</p><p> </p><p>…Probably. </p><p> </p><p>“What’re you doing here anyway? Looking for Wilbur? He-“</p><p> </p><p>“Left already. Yeah, I- uh, figured. I was trying to get in?”</p><p> </p><p>Quackity’s smile faltered for a split second. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh. Oh? Uh, haha, why?”</p><p> </p><p>“I left my pin inside.”</p><p> </p><p>Well, there goes the heist, but he needed an excuse and that was a real one. It was much safer and easier than trying to come up with a lie on the spot and, besides, he’d get his pin back.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I run in and get it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uhh, sorry man, we’re all locked up. No one is allowed inside.”</p><p> </p><p>Never mind, the heist was back on. Nice.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, <em> no one </em>is allowed inside? Not even you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Schatt’s orders.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you own this place too? Aren’t you partners?”</p><p> </p><p>Quackity stopped for a moment. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, his face turning slightly red. </p><p> </p><p>“I- yeah. Yeah! We- We’re equals. He just- I just- respect- I mean, it’s my rule too, so, no going inside. Final word.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy smirked at how he’d clearly hit some kind of nail on some kind of head. Quackity was great, but he was also super prideful and silly, so, an idiot. It was funny to watch his pride stumble. He’d told Wilbur that once and Wilbur said it was something they had in common. Tommy couldn’t think of a proper response and Wilbur got all high and mighty like he’d made some kind of point because Tommy had stammered, which was just unfair. </p><p> </p><p>“Seriously though, you should scram, this isn’t a place to be snooping around, Tommy.” Quackity’s usually goofy tone of voice made him sound so serious when he talked normally.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay...?”</p><p> </p><p>“We work here, is what I mean, and you could cause some serious damage to me or Wilbur, so don’t get any ideas about screwing around out here. It’s fine when you’re you’re here with Wilbur but…” he trailed off, point made.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, alright, I got it. See ya, big Q!”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy ran off, already plotting to snoop around so much while he got his pin. This was exciting. He wished Tubbo was here to share in the chaos but, oh well. He was coming back early tomorrow morning and they could hang out then! Maybe he’d even wake up early to meet him there. He instinctively reached into his pocket to text Tubbo but realized- </p><p> </p><p>SON OF A BITCH, Wilbur still had his phone. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy let out a huff, some cross between a scoff and a groan. This was unreal. He’d gotten his phone taken away, he’d banged his arm, he’d gotten in trouble with both Wilbur AND Quackity, and to top it all off <em>he was missing his fucking pin.  </em></p><p> </p><p>He might as well just head home, there wasn’t much else he wanted to do with Tubbo gone. Maybe Phil would be able to cheer him up, who knows. It was getting too cold to hang around outside anyway. </p><p> </p><p>He started his way back home, grumbling to himself the whole way there.</p><p> </p><p>Ugh, it might as well start raining like in the movies when you complain it can't get worse.</p><p> </p><p>Today was just <em>wonderful</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo was somewhere in the middle of nowhere and his pin was trapped in a music display case.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t believe he’d lost his stupid disc again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Phil may or may not be indirectly teaching his children how to be many things. Good people? Yes. Strong boys? Yes. Flexible? Yes. But criminals? …also probably yes. </p><p>Tommy's really fun to write, ego makes a semi-unreliable narrator which are always a blast to me. I really enjoyed making this chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Dadza</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Phil and Technoblade spend some time together.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Have some fluff! I know that major character death is grinding some people's nerves, but murder takes time. It's coming, I promise. Untill then, enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p>
  <b>[Family Chat]</b>
</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>I’m coming from nearby </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>Met up with my client </p><p> </p><p><b>Philza: </b>Oh! How’d that go?</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>One sec</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>Ill tell you when I gwt there</p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> Im really close</p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p> </p><p>Phil set his phone on the counter, smiling. He hadn’t seen Technoblade in nearly a fortnight (he’d been preoccupied with a case) and the anticipation was making him giddy.</p><p> </p><p>He checked the kitchen to make sure he had plenty of groceries to cook with. They seemed pretty well-stocked, he’d been shopping recently so all the basics were taken care of but he thought he might need to make a trip to get some specific ingredients. Maybe some spices and peppers? Phil wasn’t the biggest spicy-foods fan but he didn’t <em>dislike </em>them either.</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade was all around an excellent cook but he had some specialized dishes he <em>loved </em>to make and many of them involved special ingredients, several of which were Nether and therefore extremely spicy. Techno loved hot food, he often needed to tone down the number of peppers or spice or sauce he used because it was borderline inedible to the rest of the family. Phil supposed that was his fault, when he’d first adopted Techno he’d wanted to let him explore his heritage, an option that had not been available to him on the streets. Techno hadn’t really been interested until Phil offered to help him try some recipes from Nether. </p><p> </p><p>It had been a fun few weeks, taste testing several different kinds of strange foods and experimenting with cooking styles. Technoblade found he didn’t really care for the meats or the fruits but the vegetables and spices were delicious basically no matter how he cooked them. </p><p> </p><p>Phil’s personal favorite was something called Nether Wart. It wasn’t really for eating, just for flavoring like the zest of a lemon, but it was sour and bitter and great to chew on, like onion grass. It was extremely difficult to get however, they only let you buy it in tiny amounts. (Phil later learned that’s because it’s a key ingredient in potion-making so there are laws against selling it in bulk.) </p><p> </p><p>In the end, Techno ended up enjoying cooking so much it became a longtime hobby of his.</p><p> </p><p>He mentally added “go shopping” to his to-do list. He could ask Techno what specific things he needed once he got here. Luckily, they already had plenty of potatoes. Nearly all of Techno’s dishes involved potatoes. Actually, maybe <em> all </em>of them.  Phil thought it was sweet, the way Techno made everything a perfect combination of Nether and Esempi foods. It wasn’t that deep, they just tasted good together, but he still couldn’t help but smile when he noticed. </p><p> </p><p>With that out of the way, all he had to do was wait. Phil contemplated making some hot chocolate to have ready before Techno got here but before he could get out the mugs he heard the front door open.</p><p> </p><p>“Phil?”</p><p> </p><p>“Technoblade!”</p><p> </p><p>Phil slid back into the front room to give his son a hug. He was hit by a cold burst of air from the open door. It was much chillier than when he had sat out to enjoy the morning.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh wow, it got really cold really fast.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I swear it dropped like five degrees just on my walk home,” Techno mumbled while stomping off and putting away his boots.</p><p> </p><p>Phil waited until he was done to wrap his arms around him in a tight and pat-hug, having to stretch a little to reach. Phil wasn’t short, above average, actually, but all his sons were taller than him. Wilbur and Technoblade were just giants in general, and Tommy wasn’t even done growing yet. Phil doubted he’d be as tall as Will, but he might make it to Techno’s height. </p><p> </p><p>“Welcome home! How’ve you been? I was just going to make some hot chocolate, you want some?” </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade nodded and Phil went to go heat up some water while Techno put away his coat before joining him in the kitchen. As he walked in the dishwasher beeped signaling it was done and he immediately began putting away the dishes, out of habit, Phill guessed. He always ended up doing some kind of chore when he came to visit. Phil rarely asked him to, but he wasn’t complaining either. The water would boil on its own so he went over to assist. They worked in pleasant silence and finished fairly quickly, just in time to put the chocolate powder into the water. </p><p> </p><p>As Phil stirred it in Techno leaned casually against the wall and combed his fingers through his hair. Phil couldn’t help but notice it was getting <em> very </em>long. Techno had always liked it long, he had it below his shoulders or longer for most of his life, but now it was nearly his full body length, well past his knees.</p><p> </p><p>“Your hair’s getting very long.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mmm.”</p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t it annoying to have it down like that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not really, only when it’s windy or I have to walk through trees or something. It’s fine when I’m just chilling.” He ran his fingers down his hair thoughtfully, “It’s kind of relaxing, actually.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you ever going to cut it again?” Phil joked.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe,” Technoblade shrugged “but not too much shorter than it is now. I like it like this. Wilbur does too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Haha, yeah. Remember when you cut it to your shoulder blades? He was so mad. I don’t even know why, it’s not like it wasn’t still long. He could still braid it and everything.”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade didn’t answer. Glancing over, Phil could tell he was lost in thought. </p><p> </p><p>Phil only smiled. He recognized that look. When you had a consistent train of thought you wanted to ride to the end. It’s not that he <em>couldn’t </em>get his attention but Phil decided to leave him to ride his train. </p><p> </p><p>He reached into the cupboard and got out three mugs, filling one all the way (for Techno), one three-fourths full (for him), and one halfway (for Tommy), before getting out some milk and filling them the rest of the way. It wasn’t until he began reaching for the peppermints he realized Tommy wasn’t even here.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Tommy’s not back yet.”</p><p> </p><p>Techno shrugged, “Stick it in the fridge, he can just reheat it in the microwave when he gets here.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not that,” Phil dropped a peppermint into his drink and two into Techno’s before handing it to him “he should be back by now. Wilbur kicked him out to lock up a while ago now and Tubbo’s away at that village so I don’t know what he could be doing. Besides, it’s gotten much colder and he doesn’t even have a long sleeve shirt on.”</p><p> </p><p>“I swear that kid thinks he’s allergic to any clothing that’s not a T-shirt or jeans.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I <em> told </em>him to at least put on a jacket.”</p><p> </p><p>“Y’know, that’s probably why he didn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>Phil rolled his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Probably.”</p><p> </p><p>He sighed and took a long sip of his cocoa. Tommy wasn’t a stereotypical teenager in the sense that he didn’t have a “rebellious phase.” Technoblade had had a violent phase that eventually mellowed out and matured into a part of his personality. Wilbur had the most stereotypical rebellious phase possible, ditching school and getting involved in criminal activities. It went so far for so long he became known as “dirty crime boy” throughout his high school, a title Phil suspected he secretly still held a little pride in.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy though? Tommy’s never had a <em> phase </em>like that. Rather, he’s just always had an inability to comprehend that some things are for his own good. It’s not that he was self-destructive, well, it was exactly that he was self-destructive, just not in a typical way. He was just impulsive. He thought so fast he didn’t actually <em>think </em>and it was either going to save his life or get him killed someday.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey," Technoblade must’ve noticed Phil’s expression. “I’m sure he’s fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, it’s not Tommy I’m worried about.” Phil laughed, snapping back into reality. “It’s whatever trouble he’s getting into.”</p><p> </p><p>“Now, how can you be so sure he’s getting into trouble?” Techno inquired sarcastically. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, if the cold hasn’t driven him back yet there is something keeping him entertained enough to stay out there.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe he found another 'case' to work.”</p><p> </p><p>Phil put a hand on his face, grinning but also groaning. </p><p> </p><p>“Ooooh, I hope not.”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade snorted.</p><p> </p><p>There was a ping from across the room and from Techno’s pocket. Phil walked over to grab his phone while Techno checked his.</p><p> </p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p>
  <b>[Family Chat]</b>
</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>I’d love too</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>but I have plans to meet up w/ my friends after their work is done</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Now that I’m officially running </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>We need to talk about that</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>officially running?</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>I’m running for a council seat </p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>WHAT</p><p> </p><p><b>Philza: </b>we talked earlier</p><p><b>Philza: </b>He’s got some good ideas </p><p><b>Philza: </b>I’m really proud of him</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>Wow. </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>Good for you man</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>Good luck</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Thats it?</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>wdym </p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>no witty insults?</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>no “we’re all doomed if you win?”</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>just “good luck?”</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>Yeah. If you’re serious about this then I fully support you</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>We need better people making laws </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>So that I can do my job right</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>and especially so Phil can do his</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>There’s a reason most prosecutors are seen as evil</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>even when they’re right</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>and</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>you’re better people </p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p> </p><p>Phil smiled at Technoblade from across the room. He didn’t notice, busy looking at the texts, but Phil didn’t care. He didn’t need to.</p><p> </p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>I</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>wow</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>thank you technoblade </p><p> </p><p><b>Philza: </b>And don’t worry about meeting your friends</p><p><b>Philza:</b> It’s alright if you’re late </p><p><b>Philza: </b>plus I doubt you’ll be</p><p><b>Philza:</b> we probably won’t start until late tonight</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot</b>: okay</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Bye then </p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>WAIT</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>I just thought of something really important </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>You can’t run!</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>What? Why?!</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> You have too dark a past</p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> You’ll never make it, you’ll be eaten alive</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>? </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Is this about high school</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Because I actually plan to use that</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>No. Worse.</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>The sand, Wilbur. </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>The sand.</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>if it ever got out that you eat it</p><p> </p><p><b>Philza: </b>oh my god </p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade:</b> you’d immediately lose </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>It would be hilarious </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>THE SAND</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> fuck you</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>bye</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>NO Wilbur! you have to listen to me</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>I can already imagine it </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>You’re about to win but then someone</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>(defiantly not me)</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>Leaks it.</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>The world will slip through your fingers</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>LIKE SAND</p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p> </p><p>“I think he’s gone, Techno. He probably put his phone down and left the room.”</p><p> </p><p>“No. He’s still here.”</p><p> </p><p>“How are you so sure?”</p><p> </p><p>“Check.”</p><p> </p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p><b>Philza: </b>Wil?</p><p><b>Philza: </b>Wilbur?</p><p><b>Philza: </b>I’m fairly certain he left.</p><p> </p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>Maybe I talked him out of it</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>It’s a good thing too</p><p><b>Technoblade: </b>Can you imagine if he got up to give a speech and someone mentioned anteaters? </p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>FUCK YOU TECHNO</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>IF I GAVE S SPEECH ABOUT ANTEATERS I’D WIN ON THE SPOT</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>BECAUSE EVERYONE WOULD AGREE WITH ME</p><p> </p><p><b>Philza: </b>OH MY GOD</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>THEY’RE THE WORST, PHIL</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>the WORST</p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p> </p><p>Phil had to put his head down from how hard he was laughing. His phone buzzed and buzzed in his hand, probably Will ranting about anteaters, <em> again</em>. He set it on silent and set it down, that would probably go on for a while. </p><p> </p><p>“I swear, that boy is gonna be the death of me,” he snickered. </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade also put his phone away.</p><p> </p><p>“Either him or Tommy.”</p><p> </p><p>“How did you know that would work?”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t. I just know he has a habit of silently watching conversations instead of leaving them and a <em> visceral </em> hatred towards anteaters.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ha, fair enough.”</p><p> </p><p>Philza went over to the pot to pour them both some more cocoa. </p><p> </p><p>“So, tell me about this client. Did you finally get everything sorted out?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think so. At least, I can’t tell why any of them would need me now unless one of them gets in trouble again.”</p><p> </p><p>“Any of them?”</p><p> </p><p>“He and his friends blend together. Not because they’re similar just because I think they’re some kind of package deal.”</p><p> </p><p>“I remember you saying something about his weird friends.”</p><p> </p><p>“They were even stranger in person. Mask guy, his name is Dream, apparently usually wears a mask and only didn’t when I met with him because he didn’t want to seem suspicious. Seemed to be really <em>experienced</em> too, I’m pretty sure he would’ve fought me if he thought I stepped too far out of line. Generally, he seemed pretty chill though.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh? And what do you think 'stepping out of line' would be?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, they thought I was blackmailing them at one point.”</p><p> </p><p>Phil nearly choked on his drink at that. Just the nonchalant deadpan way Technoblade delivered lines like that made him want to laugh sometimes, even though he knew to expect it by now.</p><p> </p><p>“What gave them that idea?”</p><p> </p><p>“They didn’t understand why I was helping them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.”</p><p> </p><p>Phil got the hint. This had been another guilty client. He opted to ignore the realization. Although they had different views on clients and how to treat them he trusted Technoblade with his life, and with everyone else’s. He couldn’t even say he disagreed most of the time.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m honestly glad I became a defense attorney, being a prosecutor seems so dull now, what with everyone being sane.”</p><p> </p><p>“Haha, I’m sure you’d find plenty of entertainment one way or another, Technoblade. Especially going up against defense attorneys. There are some <em> very </em>interesting characters to run into.”</p><p> </p><p>“I guess I’ve become one of them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Most defiantly.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you think you’ll hear stories about me when you go back?”</p><p> </p><p>“When I go back? I already am! I’m sure they won’t shut up, they’ll probably blame me for raising that son of a bitch that cost them their trial, and every time they do I’ll kick back and think “fuck yeah, he did.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, yeah, sorry I paint a target on your back for those assholes to aim at.”</p><p> </p><p>“Pfft, they were always assholes, Technoblade. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I wonder what would happen if we ever go up against each other.”</p><p> </p><p>“I doubt that will ever happen. There’s no way somebody won’t be convinced one of us is working for the other, contempt of court and all that. They just wouldn’t allow us to take the same case.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, but hypothetically.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d kick your ass,” Phil replied flatly.</p><p> </p><p>It was Technoblade’s turn to choke trying not to laugh.</p><p> </p><p>They both took a moment to finish their drinks. As they stood there together, Phil closed his eyes to enjoy the moment. It was nice, having Technoblade home again. This was… nice. He kept his eyes closed even as he finished and lowered his up, letting the peace linger before-</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>BOOM</b>
</p><p> </p><p>His eyes shot open. Adrenaline coursed through him as he tried not to drop his mug. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What? Where?  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade put a comforting hand on his shoulder, laughing. </p><p> </p><p>“Did- did the thunder scare you, Phil?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Phil swallowed, looking to the window, before chuckling himself. </p><p> </p><p>It had begun raining quite suddenly, possibly hailing. He guessed it wasn’t exactly <em>unexpected,</em> it had been cloudy all day, the thunder had just struck at a moment his guard was completely dow- oh shit. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you think Tommy is okay? He shouldn't be out in this. Shoot, but he probably doesn’t have his <em> phone </em> so I don’t know where he is to pick him up and Tubbo’s not here so I can’t call him. Where do you think he’d be?”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade opened his mouth to respond but cut himself off at the sound of faint shrieking from the front door, which then flew open and slammed shut revealing a shaking, soaking, <em> screaming</em>, Tommy.</p><p> </p><p>“-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHGGGGG, OH, <em> WHY CAN’T IT JUST </em> <b> <em>SNOW </em> </b> <em> FOR ONCE?” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Well, that answers that question.” Technoblade deadpanned.</p><p> </p><p>Phil couldn’t help but break into laughter. Tommy was understandably pissed, yelling curses at the both of them while trying (and failing) to get out of his wet socks. Phil attempted to stifle his laughter as much as he could but was still very clearly amused at the situation. </p><p> </p><p>“Go take a hot shower, Tommy. Then you can come and have the hot chocolate I made for you. Warm-up a bit, we don’t want you getting sick.”</p><p> </p><p>“And hang up your clothes to dry. Don’t just leave them in a soggy pile for weeks.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Technoblade. You left your clothes out more than any of us.”</p><p> </p><p>“He is right though,” Phil chimed in. “Hang them up to dry.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy stuck his tongue out as he trudged off to shower, probably assuming Phil couldn’t see him. </p><p> </p><p>Phil snorted. He was such a child.</p><p> </p><p>“So… with that mystery solved, what do you want for dinner?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, I thought you had a menu in mind. It’s your party, after all. You can make whatever you like. I can run out and grab any specific ingredients you need.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s my party <em>for you</em>. This is a Philza Minecraft celebration, you can decide.”</p><p> </p><p>“I decide… that you should decide. I’ll like whatever you make. Besides, I accidentally got way too many potatoes. I need your magic potato-disappearing powers.”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade smiled. “If you insist.”</p><p> </p><p>“And just to clarify, I mean the powers where you cook with them, not when you eat the entire bag raw.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh come on, I haven’t done that since I was a kid.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really?”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade was silent.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Techno.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not that weird! They’re still healthy and it tastes good! I like them better crunchy.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, I know, don’t worry,” Phil laughed. “I was only teasing. Besides, there are worse eating habits you could have, I mean, you’re <em> nothing </em> compared to Wilbur.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, don’t bring that up. My teeth hurt just thinking about it.”</p><p> </p><p>“You brought it up first earlier!”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, but that was for his torment. It’s not funny when it’s for mine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right, right, but seriously what do you want to make?”</p><p> </p><p>“You know what? We’re having raw potatoes tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>“What!”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Yep. Sounds good. I’ll wash them off and put them on the table. Bon Appetite.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not even going to cut them up?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nope, crunch ‘em like apples or stay mad.”</p><p> </p><p>“What happened to this being a 'Philza Minecraft' celebration?”</p><p> </p><p>“You said I could pick.”</p><p> </p><p>“So I did, but still.”</p><p> </p><p>“You know I’m kidding.”</p><p> </p><p>“With your voice? I really can’t tell.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, you can.”</p><p> </p><p>“Pfft, of course, I can.” Phil rested a hand on Techno's shoulder. "You've never been able to fool me, intentionally or not."</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade put his hand on top of Phil’s and smiled. Phil beamed back. </p><p> </p><p>“Alright, let me get some paper. I’ll make a list,” he paused “I love you, Phil.”</p><p> </p><p>Phil raised an eyebrow. </p><p> </p><p>“Phil?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mr.Philza.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“No.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“…Philza.”</p><p> </p><p>“Come on… you can say it!” He urged him on like he was trying to get a baby to say its first words. </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade smirked.</p><p> </p><p>“Dad…”</p><p> </p><p>Phil’s eyes widened in surprise.</p><p> </p><p>“...za.”</p><p> </p><p>Phil gave him a playful punch in the shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, there it is.”</p><p> </p><p>That was one he hadn’t heard in a while. </p><p> </p><p>All his sons had never really stopped calling him by his first name, which he didn’t mind, and it had been hardest for Tehcnoblade. Phil could still remember the first few weeks he was home he’d called him “Mr.Philza.” It made him cringe. </p><p> </p><p>Eventually, they got it down to just Philza or Phil. Technoblade hadn’t ever gotten into the habit of calling him dad. One day, Phil really couldn’t remember when, he decided to compromise and say Dadza. It might have been Will who came up with it, who knows. It was now a running joke between him and techno that Techno never called him dad or father or anything like that and it would always end with the same happy punchline that made them both break into big stupid grins.</p><p> </p><p>“Dadza.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Plot? Foreshadowing? I don't know her, she sounds sexy though.</p><p>Also, Phil has the best hot chocolate. 1/4 milk or cream to cool it down and two peppermints.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Puppet Shows Take A Lot Of Work</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>We cut to our villain.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Plot? Foreshadowing? NEVER heard of her... nope, not at all.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A man in a suit sat alone at a table somewhere. It looked like some kind of bar, but he was the only one there. The floor was entirely clear except for the single table and chair he sat at. The windows were either covered or nonexistent, it’s plausible he was in a basement. </p><p> </p><p>He sat calmly, silently, but storm clouds practically swirled over his head. The air was so thick with tension you could practically snap it. </p><p> </p><p>The man didn’t have a weapon on him, but the vibe of the room was such you’d assume anyone who walked in would get shot, no hesitation.</p><p> </p><p>The man reached out for a bottle and poured himself (another) glass of something strong.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Damn it.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur, that son of a bitch. He should have known he’d get screwed over by that fucking sad-boy wannabe at some point.</p><p> </p><p>He thought he was enough of a nobody to stick around forever, keeping the customers satisfied as the goody-two-shoes face of the store and keeping suspicion off of what goes on when it’s not open. Wasn’t it like a dream job? Didn’t he have a musical career on the side to keep him content? Wasn’t he perfectly happy playing the role they’d assigned him? </p><p> </p><p>God, it was bad enough his personal business was going to suffer but Wilbur’s plans were going to throw a wrench at<em> a lot </em> of people, and he just knew they were all going to be breathing down HIS neck to solve it, just because Wilbur was “one of his.”</p><p> </p><p>Hah. If there was anything funny about the situation, he’d laugh. Wilbur wasn’t “one of his” any more than the shmucks who bought from him, less in fact. At least his customers knew what the hell actually paid the bills of the place. The fact Wilbur had that whole conversation right inside the shop only proved it.</p><p> </p><p>The man slammed his glass down on the table, pulling out a phone. He shuffled past hours of what appeared to be recordings from a security camera until he got to a specific part.</p><p> </p><p>He rewound, intending to actually listen to the words now that he was over the surprise and frustration of their existence.</p><p> </p><p>——</p><p>
  <em> “It’s supply and demand. I want to get potions being made legally and safely. If it’s all out in the open we’ll be able to monitor who’s buying what and, more importantly, since it’s a safer option that won’t get you shot or in jail, it will be overwhelming competition for the brewer gangs. Take away their monopoly, their business, their power. Why risk going to a shady dealer when you can purchase a regeneration at your local pharmacy, probably for cheaper?” </em>
</p><p>——</p><p> </p><p>He snorted. Oh, how original. </p><p> </p><p>——</p><p>
  <em> “We have the recourses, it’s the fear-mongering and the people taking advantage of that fear to violently enforce a shortage for a higher prophet that are the problem. If we normalized them and it wasn’t taboo to know how to safely use them it would be common knowledge how much is dangerous and what to avoid.” </em>
</p><p>——</p><p> </p><p>It was a shame Wilbur wasn’t stupid, he might’ve actually continued to be useful. </p><p> </p><p>Well, he did have this entire conversation inside a brewery but that said more about HIS smarts than Wilbur’s stupidity. It was kind of the point he didn’t know, this could honestly just be chalked up to bad luck. </p><p> </p><p>Bad luck for Wilbur, really, <em> really, </em> good luck for him.</p><p> </p><p>——</p><p>
  <em> “It’s not perfect, and I know I’m not the first guy to try and put in place a plan like this, but unlike those guys, I actually plan to go through with it.” </em>
</p><p>——</p><p> </p><p>The man rewound and listened to that part again. Then again. </p><p> </p><p>Oh, oh, this was just too perfect. It was like watching someone stuck in a room point at a lock and go “I’m not gonna be like the last guy who couldn’t open the door” before attempting to turn the handle just like everyone before him had.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps he’d been a bit too hasty in deciding Wilbur wasn’t stupid enough to be useful.</p><p> </p><p>Still, though, he was smart enough to recognize a pattern. If they got him in power and he realized they were using him there's no telling how many businesses would be screwed over. </p><p> </p><p>No, he couldn’t be deceitful. He didn’t have a good enough hand here to bluff long-term. He needed to be upfront in one way or another. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe he could get Quackity to talk to him. Seeing how Quackity was genuinely attached to the guy and his family, it would be a genuine offer.</p><p> </p><p>No, that was also a bad idea. Quackity was a <em> goon</em> (if even that). He barely realized he was near the bottom of a long, long, food chain. He was a predator and that, to him, meant he wasn’t prey. </p><p>He would not be able to recruit someone for such a key role, it would be like a janitor doing the job interview for a mascot. Yeah, they were both taking orders from everyone else but that hardly meant either knew how to properly pick or brief the other.</p><p> </p><p>Besides, Wilbur was nothing like Quackity. Quackity had gone in <em>intending</em> to commit crimes. Wilbur? Yeah, he stole and used to brew a little but he worked for <em>himself. </em>For fun. For “harmless” fun. He wouldn’t sacrifice for a profit or care about the bigger hidden picture. </p><p> </p><p>No, he was right the first time, Wilbur was a liability. They needed to get him out, but how? His mind jumped to how he got rid of quite a few liabilities but he brushed it off. That was a good way to screw himself over.  Wilbur had just spoken to Phil about it in HIS shop. Best to avoid such drastic measures.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe… maybe he didn’t even need to be involved. He skipped to a certain part of the recording.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p>
  <em>“You know my friends Niki, Fundy, and Eret?”</em>
</p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Eret.</p><p> </p><p>Eret was already a candidate for him to shape. They’d been talking… he knew Eret was a friend of a friend of Wilbur but it sounded like they were planning to work closer together.</p><p> </p><p>The man drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. </p><p> </p><p>If Eret was planning to run <em>with </em>Wilbur and his friends maybe he could convince Eret to convince Wilbur not to run AND get the dominoes for a new puppet lined up. Eret wasn’t any less annoying than Wilbur, just significantly easier to control. Much less in the way of recruitment. Not to mention- hmmm… political rivals… that could be useful. Power was such a believable motive.</p><p> </p><p>No, even then, Wilbur’s conversation with Phil just made it too difficult. A phone call in the music shop only to later wind up gone? There’s no way that bastard prosecutor wouldn’t put three and three together. It wasn't impossible to conceive of pulling that off, he'd just rather not take any risks he didn't need to. Why raise the stakes?</p><p> </p><p>He still needed a way to either control Wilbur or shut him up but it seemed every option was unnecessarily raising the stakes, too obvious, or not permanent enough. </p><p> </p><p>He would email Eret anyway, but even if that worked it only temporarily solved the problem. Wilbur would still be heavily involved, along with those other people but Wilbur was who he was worried about because Wilbur already knew him. He couldn’t risk Wilbur recognizing him or his influence and putting anything together.</p><p> </p><p>The man slammed a fist on the table, suddenly breaking the silence outside his mind.</p><p> </p><p>This was so <em>frustrating</em>. Everything had been fine this morning, then within the span an hour movie you had Wilbur suddenly trying to weed out corruption in the council, nearly witnessing a trade, AND his brother prying about the place.</p><p> </p><p>Quackity had tried to hide that last one from him. He could understand why, he was obviously pissed, but of course he was going to find out anyway. They had personal security set up for a- well, <em>two</em> reasons. First and foremost to establish alibies. They never explained to customers why they had to approach and enter a certain way but they made it clear it was that or be blacklisted. The truth was to avoid the cameras. (Pretty hard to charge someone when you have video evidence of them not being there.) The second being to catch anything that might fuck them over in the long run.</p><p> </p><p>Like, say, some delusional child convinced he was a detective? Quackity knew this, and he knew about the cameras, and he knew Schlatt was going to go over them when he got there just like every day, yet he'd still tried to keep his mouth shut.</p><p> </p><p> Was it really worth it just to- no, he hadn’t tried to hide it to avoid getting yelled at. He wanted to protect the stupid teenager.</p><p> </p><p>The man put a hand on the side of his face, exasperated. </p><p> </p><p>He was just surrounded by idiots, wasn’t he? How had none of these people gotten themselves killed yet? This was why <em>he</em> dealt with all the business parts of their business. Yeah, Quackity was a goon, but only because he wouldn’t last half a day as anything else.</p><p> </p><p>He guessed there was a reason Quackity was in potions and not drugs or weapons or anything. There was a reason for Schlatt too, lower risk, high profit, but that was circumstantial. If things changed he'd have no qualms swapping over to the more inherently violent options, but Quackity? Sometimes he wondered if Quackity thought he was still in middle school and this was all just some fun game the cool kids played. He wondered if he understood what they worked for.</p><p> </p><p>Back to Wilbur, who he suspected Quackity was also way too attached to- NO, back to <em> Wilbur. </em>Focus, damn it. All the idiocy was rubbing off on him…</p><p> </p><p>They couldn’t kill Wilbur. It was too likely to be pinned on him and, honestly, he just didn’t want to. He had no gripes about it if it came up as a good option but just because he’d bumped off trouble before didn’t mean he <em>wanted </em>to kill <em>everyone </em>who caused him a headache. </p><p> </p><p>There was the same problem with physical threats, if that even worked, which he doubted it would, it was just as obvious and unnecessary expect without the 100% success rate.</p><p> </p><p>They couldn’t discourage him from running through blackmail or anything of the likes because they didn’t have anything to use against him. They could try to undermine him by damaging him publicly, that usually didn’t matter if it was true or not, but something told him that wouldn’t end the way they wanted. Wilbur was too damn charismatic. They couldn’t risk him twisting the slander to gain support. It was unlikely, but at that point, he would have already pulled the trigger when he didn't even <em>need</em> to play roulette. </p><p> </p><p>It was <em>improbable</em>, not implausible. After all, he’d grown up with back-to-back infamously successful lawyers. </p><p> </p><p>That was another problem, his <em>family. </em>Between his father and brother, the guy had a literal army of top-tier lawyers, he was untouchable in terms of political sabotage. They tried to pin or plant anything on him all he’d have them getting him out of the mess in a second. Even in the event it worked, it wouldn't stop him for long and he'd have brother and daddy already personally involved to back him up. </p><p> </p><p>Not to mention his annoying pest of a younger brother was in the habit of sticking his nose into any kind of trouble he could find. He’d already become a little too curious around the shop for comfort. God, Schlatt couldn’t wait until the little snot got himself shot messing with someone he shouldn’t-</p><p> </p><p>Oh. </p><p> </p><p>Oh, wait. </p><p> </p><p>A malicious grin spread across the man’s face.</p><p> </p><p>So, they couldn’t blackmail Wilbur, couldn’t frame him, couldn’t threaten him, and couldn’t outright kill him. </p><p> </p><p>Keyword, <em> him.  </em></p><p> </p><p>The man stood up, grabbing the bottle to take with him on the way out.</p><p> </p><p>These puppet shows took a lot of work, but he’d just found the perfect strings.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You can probably guess who it is, but I kept it like this because they do it a lot in the games. It's not about the mystery it's about the ✨vibes.✨</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Run Against Me Then</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wilbur, Fundy, Niki, and Eret discuss their plans, bonding ensues.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m so so sorry this took so long! This was a bad week for me, not just in writing. I could not for the life of me focus; I had some trouble at home that kept me occupied. This chapter was Frankensteined together in bits and pieces where I forced myself to write for 5 minutes. Enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p>
  <b>[Family Chat]</b>
</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>FUCK YOU TECHNO</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>IF I GAVE S SPEECH ABOUT ANTEATERS I’D WIN ON THE SPOT</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>BECAUSE EVERYONE WOULD AGREE WITH ME</p><p> </p><p><b>Philza: </b>OH MY GOD</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>THEY’RE THE WORST, PHIL</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>the WORST</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>they are bad animals</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Their tongues </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Their fur</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Shit name</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>SHit evil creatures  </p><p><b>WilburSoot:  </b>FUCK THEM</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Awful terrifying evil bad ugly motherfuckers</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>they eat ANTS like its damn caliber </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>or whatever the fuck those fancy fish eggs are called</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Fuck those too</p><p> </p><p><strong>Technoblade: </strong>caviar</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>awful rich person food</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>just awful tiny fish</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>only stupid dickeheads would eat food composed only of tiny animals</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>like ants</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>like anteaters</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>if there was a button to kill them all I’d SLAM it</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Tommy tell them</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Tommy</p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur huffed, impatiently tapping the side of his phone. Come on, this is the one time he’d appreciate Tommy jumping in to take over the conversation with rambles. Why- wait.</p><p>Wilbur felt through his pockets. Oh yeah, he still had Tommy’s phone. Huh.</p><p> </p><p>He glanced at his screen again, passion gone. He still hated those blunders of nature with burning hellfire but didn’t feel like continuing his rant.</p><p> </p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p>
  <b>[Family Chat]</b>
</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Nvm</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>I still have his phone</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>okay</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>I’m gonna go now</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>bye</p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p> </p><p>God. Fucking anteaters. Fucking <em> anteaters</em>. God’s mistake. Disgusting. Ew. He hated them so much.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t even want to think about them. He didn’t need to think about them. He <em>did </em>need to get ready for Niki, Eret, and Fundy to come over. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur set his phone on the counter and got ready to clean. His apartment wasn’t usually a mess per se but he wasn’t mister clean-and-tidy either. He definitely wanted to spruce up a little to have people over. </p><p> </p><p>The kitchen seemed a good place to start, especially since it was already pretty clean. He only needed to move a few things off the counters and wipe them down. He paused as he was leaving, wondering if he should get snacks or something ready. In the end, he decided to wait until people were here to worry about it.</p><p> </p><p>Next up was the center room. Fairly messy but no big deal. He mostly just had to organize some things strewn about, set some dishes in the kitchen, etc. The easiest part was gathering up sheets of music and getting his guitar in its case and into the corner. It took him a moment longer than he thought it would to get everything else in its place and after a while, he decided just to move them onto his bed for now. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur decided to hop into the shower real quick before doing any of the more thorough cleanings like vacuuming, dusting, or sanitizing. </p><p> </p><p>Once he’d finally gotten the main room vacuumed it was time to actually put everything away. He stared at the pile on his bed. It didn’t move. He frowned. He could just close the door. No one would know. He had plenty of time until anyone got here, though. He probably should just get it done now. He tried to reason with himself, thinking how he needed to clean that up or he wouldn’t be able to sleep on the bed tonight. He really should do something about it.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” he sighed out loud.</p><p> </p><p>He shuffled into his room and reached at the pile, knocking it to the floor on the side of the bed, before walking out and closing the door.  </p><p> </p><p>There. Problem solved. Bed cleared. House cleaned. He checked his phone; it was still gonna be a few hours before anyone was done with work. Ugh, that was the only other bad thing about his job, his schedule was always wonky compared to everyone else. He guessed he shouldn’t be complaining about having extra free-time but when he didn’t have a project to throw himself into it felt tedious. </p><p> </p><p>Well, he HAD a project now, he just had to wait for people with normal jobs to be here to work on it... or, did he? </p><p> </p><p>After ten or so minutes on his laptop, he realized yes, yes he did. He was going to drive himself insane trying to do work while still being able to include three other people who weren’t there. They were coming over for a discussion, not a lecture. </p><p> </p><p>Defeated, he plopped down on the couch and laid there for a while, mindlessly running his fingers over the fabric. He didn’t really feel like putting on a show or anything and he’d finished all the books he owned… hmm. He got up and pulled out his guitar again, strumming out a thoughtless tune for a while before-</p><p> </p><p>“Augh!” Wilbur jolted awake with a yelp, taking a moment to remember where and who he was and what he was doing.</p><p> </p><p>He rubbed his face. Had he really fallen asleep? That was one way to pass the time he guessed but- his phone was ringing. That’s was had woken him up. He stumbled off the couch, rubbing away the red marking on his skin from the uncomfortable position he’d been laying in, and grabbed it. The screen was too bright to focus on so he just fumbled for the answer button and put it up to his ear.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello?” He groggily murmured.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, Will I’m- did I wake you up?” Niki answered. </p><p> </p><p>“Mmm? Oh, n-no!” Wilbur forced himself to full alert. “No, I’ve been up for… uh, I’ve been up.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay if you were napping, I am early. Sorry!”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no, it’s fine. Let me come get you.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur went out to welcome Niki just in time to see Eret climbing the steps.</p><p> </p><p>They all said hello and went back inside. As they got to the doorway Wilbur paused, staring at Eret. There was something… off about them. He squinted, trying to figure out what when it suddenly clicked. </p><p> </p><p>“Eret.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes?”</p><p> </p><p>“Did you… get taller?” Wilbur tilted his head slightly as he addressed his friend, something he was <em>not </em>used to doing. Wilbur was taller than pretty much everyone he’d ever met and he was certain Eret, although fairly tall, was not an exception.</p><p> </p><p>“Uhh… Huh? No? What- oh,” awareness spread across Eret’s face. He lifted up a leg and gestured to it. “I’m wearing heels. That’s probably it.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur looked down and realized he was in fact wearing a pair of glossy high-heeled boots.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh. So you are. Damn, they’re <em>nice.”</em></p><p> </p><p>“Oh, uh, thank you!”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, they look great,” Niki laughed, more at Wilbur’s confusion (and slight panic) over the height than the shoes.</p><p> </p><p>Eret held a small grin on his face, hiding it by leaning down to take his shoes off. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you have a place for shoes or should we just leave them by the door?”</p><p> </p><p>Niki answered for Wilbur. “Just leave them by the door.”</p><p> </p><p>The three of them made their way to the center room where Wilbur offered water. They both declined at first but Wilbur was kind of insistent and they both caved, accepting a glass. Hydration. Is. Important.</p><p> </p><p>“So, should we wait for Fundy or start without him?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why don’t we- oh,” Niki’s phone began ringing “speak of the devil.”</p><p> </p><p>It took only a second for Fundy to get inside. </p><p> </p><p>“Hello, everyone! Sorry, I’m late, but I will make it up to you!” He presented a carton of what looked to be some kind of red berry, dramatically setting it on the coffee table where everyone could reach. “I brought SNACKS! These. Are. The best.” </p><p> </p><p>Niki immediately scooped up a handful but Eret seemed hesitant. </p><p> </p><p>“Is it alright if we eat in your living room, Wilbur?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur laughed, thinking of all the dishes he’d cleared away earlier, and nodded. They both picked a few to sample.</p><p> </p><p>“These are pretty good.” Niki went to grab another bunch.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur chewed his and shrugged. They were bitter but weren’t bad.</p><p> </p><p>Eret’s face twisted as he forced himself to swallow the single berry he’d chosen. “I… do not think I like these.”</p><p> </p><p>“Pfft, more for me then.” Fundy reached to pull the carton closer to him only to have his hand smacked away by Niki.</p><p> </p><p>“I said <em> I liked them.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Once everyone had settled down they began to discuss their plans. After a while, when everyone was properly into the conversation, Niki brought up that there was still the question of who was going to run.</p><p> </p><p>“I will,” Eret spoke up instantly. “I’ve actually been thinking about a way to bring it up for a while. I know we’re all in this together but only one person can actually <em> run, </em>and I’d like it to be me.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little shocked. Eret? Really? Well, it made sense. He hadn’t known them for long but Eret did seem like a good choice. They just held themself with a high and genuine air, it felt almost royal. Still, Wilbur was set on his decision.</p><p> </p><p>“Actually, Eret, I planned to run.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh… are you- I don’t mean to be rude, but, are you sure?”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, it’s just… we all want this to work, right? We want change and it doesn’t matter which one of us brings it?”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t think I’d make a good candidate?”</p><p> </p><p>“I… don’t think they’d be very nice to you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I-“</p><p> </p><p>“He might have a point,” Niki chimed in with an apologetic tone “…Crime Boy?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur had to stop himself from laughing. “I know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Will, you brewed potions, people aren’t going to like that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I did, and you drank them!”</p><p> </p><p>“Whoah, what?” Fundy whipped his head around to stare at Niki.</p><p> </p><p>“Really, she did. So did almost everyone else in our school. Hell, I sold to some <em>teachers. </em> I’m not going to hide that. In fact, I’m planning to use it.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?” </p><p> </p><p>“Well, we want to get actual companies making these things, right? We’re living through a probation age and no one is even addressing it. We can’t monitor or regulate something that we aren’t in control of in the first place, and because of that, crime around it has become rampant. We can’t enforce any safety measures if there’s nothing to place measures around. I believe if I am upfront about my… uh… <em> experience </em>with potions it will prove I know what I’m talking about.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m with Wilbur on this,” Fundy spoke up. “He makes a lot of sense.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh.” Eret leaned back against the wall, face glazed over in thought. He appeared to agree but didn’t seem convinced enough to back down yet.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, you know… if you really want to run, you can always just run against me,” Wilbur half-joked. </p><p> </p><p>It was technically true, they would have to basically cut contact but there was nothing stopping them in terms of legality.  </p><p> </p><p>Eret brought a hand up to his glasses, Wilbur held his breath for a moment expecting her to take them off, but instead, she tapped the frame, deep in thought.</p><p> </p><p>“I think you’re right,” they finally spoke. “The important thing here is that we get things to change, and Wilbur might be our best bet for that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p> </p><p>“No need to thank me, you were right in the first place. Besides,” a sheepish smile spread across his face “as great of a council-member I think I’d make, I’m not sure how well I’d do as a <em> candidate</em>. Part of me is glad I don’t have to worry about running.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why were you so set on running, then?” Niki asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Honestly, it’s kind of cheesy, but it’s a childhood goal of mine to be president.”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy snickered; Niki flicked his ear. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I know. Not a very good reason on its own but with you guys I actually have something to fight for. I probably wouldn’t have cared SO much but recently I met a- a friend. We’ve been talking about me running for a while and when I brought up this whole thing,” he gestured to the rest of the group “he was really supportive about <em>me </em>running. He convinced me to bring it up to you guys. </p><p> </p><p>Like I said, I always wanted to be a ruler when I was a kid and our talks reminded me why. I think he was wrong though, just being nice and all that. Actually, in hindsight, he was really discouraging about the idea of anyone else running. That’s probably why I was so against the idea, but in the end, I think he was wrong. Wilbur is a better option. If he actually knew you he’d probably agree.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aw, thanks, Eret.”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy got up to stretch his arms. </p><p> </p><p>“So… we all agree then?” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I think it’s settled.” Niki grabbed his arm  to pull him back down “BUT, we still need to work out literally everything else.”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy groaned a little and plopped back down next to her.</p><p> </p><p>“Changing the world is hard.”</p><p> </p><p>“If it was easy, everyone else would have done it already.” </p><p> </p><p>“I guess this is what we signed up for. Lots of talking...” </p><p> </p><p>“It will probably go faster if we actually talk about the <em>work</em>. That way we can, you know, <em> progress? </em>” </p><p> </p><p>“Well, for starters...”</p><p> </p><p>They all fell into discussions of debate topics and hypothetical scenarios of reporters and conferences. </p><p> </p><p>Despite how seriously everyone was taking this, the company made Wilbur feel like he was just hanging out. It wasn’t light conversation, but it was easy. He’d been bracing himself for a fight through boredom but found himself enjoying the talk. </p><p> </p><p>He supposed once he was in actual meetings with people who weren’t his friends (many of whom he would never befriend, even for a million dollars) that would grind down his passion to the point he would actually need to steel himself. For now, though, he found himself regretting how quickly time flew by. </p><p> </p><p>“Shoot!” Niki shot up suddenly. “I need to go! I have a date.” </p><p> </p><p>Fundy stood to help her gather her things. “A date more important than 'changing the world?' He must be amazing.” </p><p> </p><p>“Hah, yeah, she is. Sorry to leave like this but I <em> promised </em>we’d go to the flower gardens. We were supposed to go like two weeks ago but she kept having to cancel because work got in the way and she’s in law enforcement so it’s not like she can just “skip out.” Protecting the city and all that’s much more important than flowers.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait,” Eret looked like he was trying to convince himself of something “she’s an officer?”</p><p> </p><p>Niki gave him a cautious squint. “Captain, actually.”</p><p> </p><p>Eret sucked in a sharp breath of air, realization dawning on his face. “And you’ve got a date at a flower garden?”</p><p> </p><p>“…Yes?”</p><p> </p><p>“Her name… her name wouldn’t happen to be Puffy, would it?”</p><p> </p><p>Niki dropped her arm midway through putting her bag on. “Your joking.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not!”</p><p> </p><p>“HOW?”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re friends!”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you just know EVERY cop?” Niki nearly screeched, halfway between humored and exasperated. </p><p> </p><p>“I only know three! Just Punz, H, and Puffy. It’s not that weird!”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>WHY DO YOU KNOW ALL THE ONES </em><b>I</b> <em>KNOW?” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Whoah, whoah, what’s going on?” Fundy stepped between them, not to break them up but rather to get their attention.</p><p> </p><p>“I- uh…” Eret pressed the bridge of his nose “I keep finding out I know all of her friends… ”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s unnatural! One is a coincidence, two is suspicious, but <em>three damn</em>-" Niki was cut off by the boys laughing. </p><p> </p><p>Fundy’s snickering had boiled over into yips and Wilbur was on the verge of kneeling over. Eret also began chuckling a little and, after shooting the three of them a faux glare, Niki grinned and shook her head.</p><p> </p><p>“Seriously though, I need to go.”</p><p> </p><p>A string of goodbyes followed her out the door.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell Puffy I said hi!” Eret called.</p><p> </p><p>“I will!” Niki sighed, annoyed in tone although a playful smile shone through her voice, before shutting the door.</p><p> </p><p>The rest of them sat there for a moment, waiting for someone to continue the conversation before everyone came to the realization the meeting was over.</p><p> </p><p>“I think I should probably go too.” Fundy stood up and stretched again, yawning a bit. Eret and Wilbur agreed. </p><p> </p><p>Fundy picked up his hat and his (now empty) berry container and shuffled out the door, goodbyes being said. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur took a turn to stretch. He was a little surprised at how sore he was from sitting, although he guessed they had been talking for quite a while. It was one of those moments where you don’t realize how stuck your body feels until you think about it, and then you can’t stop noticing it. His legs were borderline asleep and his hand was sore from gripping pens. Ugh. He tried to get rid of the prickly feeling by shaking his arms. It helped a little but the static was still there. </p><p> </p><p>Oh well, it would go away on its own once he started moving about. That shouldn’t be hard, he had plenty to do still to get ready for dinner with Phil and Techno. He needed to clean up the papers scattered about his front room (and all the thing’s he’d just shoved off his bed to give the impression he’d cleaned). </p><p> </p><p>He leaned down to begin picking their notes only to be jump-scared by Eret, who he’d forgotten hadn’t left.</p><p> </p><p>“AH! Oh, fuck, what are you doing?”</p><p> </p><p>“I was… helping you… pick up…? Do- do you not want me to?”</p><p> </p><p>“I- uh, no, no it’s fine. Don’t worry. You just startled me, I thought you’d left for some reason. It’s my bad.” It really was. He had no idea why he didn’t realize Eret was still standing right there, it’s not like he’d been hidden or had acted like re was leaving. They were just barely out of Wilbur’s field of vision.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry. I can leave if you want, I’d just assumed someone should stick around and help clean up. We made a bit of a mess of your apartment.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur smiled. “Thanks but, trust me, this is cleaner than it usually is.” </p><p> </p><p>Eret nodded and smiled back. </p><p> </p><p>They started to pick up together but Wilbur checked the time and frowned.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, uh, thank you for offering to help but could you actually… leave? I don’t mean to be rude, thank you again for the offer, but I’ve got plans I need to get ready for and I can do this on my own.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, of course.” Eret stood up to get his things. “Mind me asking what plans?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur walked with him to the door. “I’ve got a dinner with my family tonight. My dad is going back to work and my brother wanted to celebrate.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s nice, what’s he do?”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s a prosecutor.”</p><p> </p><p>“Heh, I guess law-related careers run in the family.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you have <em>no </em>idea,” Wilbur laughed. “I’m actually late to the party. My twin, the one hosting the dinner, is a defense attorney and our youngest brother is dead-set on becoming a detective (god help us all if he ever succeeds).  I was the odd one out for most of my life.”</p><p> </p><p>Eret laughed and reached to open the door (having finished buttoning his coat and gotten his boots on) but paused to talk some more.</p><p> </p><p>“It was nice hanging out with you, Wilbur. I know we were more like coworkers than friends at first, but I’m glad that’s changing. I really think we, all four of us, are gonna change some things and you’re the right man to help.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur shrunk into his shoulders, surprised and not sure how to react to the sudden praise, but also grateful. He found himself agreeing with Eret’s assessment of their relationship. True, it had started out as just them working towards the same goal but that made for a pretty solid foundation to build a friendship off of. Wilbur looked forward to it.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s also nice that Niki finally managed to introduce me to a friend of her’s I <em> don’t </em>already know,” Eret joked as he opened the door to leave. He waved goodbye with one hand and brought the other up to secure his glasses.</p><p> </p><p>His… glasses. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur bit his tongue. It was none of his business. He’d never asked before but having them wear their shades the whole time they were inside his house had cemented his curiosity. It could be really personal, or... it could just be a weird fashion sense. He really didn’t <em>need </em>to know either way but-</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Eret?”</p><p> </p><p>Eret paused mid-step out the door. “Mmm?”</p><p> </p><p>“I- uh, you don’t have to answer this but I’m curious. What’s with the...” he motioned to his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Eret stepped back inside and closed the door, pulling his glasses down to his nose to reveal his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur held his breath. </p><p> </p><p>They were… just normal eyes. He didn’t know what he’d expected, some kind of magic white orbs of light? Of course, they were just eyes. They were very pretty though, an extremely pale grey-blue. They kind of seemed to glow against the black of his pupils. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve got a strangely little amount of pigment in my eyes so I’m pretty sensitive to light. I don’t <em>need </em>my glasses as much as I’d lead you to believe by how much I wear them, I’ve just taken up a habit of wearing them everywhere. I like them. Call it a fashion sense, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh.” Wilbur nodded, that was more of an explanation than he thought he’d get. “Do you get asked about it a lot?”</p><p> </p><p>“Honestly, not really.” </p><p> </p><p>“Huh,” Wilbur said, again.</p><p> </p><p>“You’d think so, right? But sunglasses just aren’t that weird. Nobody cares if I’m only passing by and people I see often enough for them to question it only have to ask once,” they shrugged. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to getting ready. Good luck, to your family and for your campaign! Maybe next term, I actually <em> will </em> run against you.” They gave a wink and set their glasses back on their face before finally making it out the door, leaving Wilbur’s apartment to himself again. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur clicked his tongue a little, lost in thought, before getting back to work. Eret’s words struck him with an odd feeling, like the opposite of nostalgia. <em> Next term. </em> He hadn’t even thought about his plans after this, although he supposed he didn’t really need to yet, that was a while away and he had plenty on his plate for now. </p><p> </p><p>Would he even run again? It all depended on how this time went, he supposed, so he couldn’t say for sure. Even if it went perfectly, would he want to? </p><p> </p><p>If there were still things that needed to change, he would, he decided. Also, if no one else good was running. He wouldn’t give up a seat for some slimy bastard.  He hopped the others in his group would eventually get into genuine positions themselves. They were good, strong-headed, people. The way they’d handled today proved that.</p><p> </p><p>He smiled, grateful everyone had kept their heads on. He realized, looking back on their conversation, things could’ve gone much sourer. It just went to show how good of people they all were.</p><p> </p><p>He was pretty happy with himself, sort-of smugly pleased with the way he’d stood his ground without rocking the boat. Eret also deserved a lot of credit, he’d made his case, listened to all the points, and then came to a reasonable and humble decision rather than stubbornly sticking to the original idea. Wilbur couldn’t help but believe they would have made a great option, if not now then eventually. </p><p> </p><p>She’d said her friend was probably “just being nice” by saying she should run but Wilbur thought they were probably right, whoever they were.</p><p> </p><p>If he DID end up running again next term, Wilbur hoped he could look forward to running against Eret. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don’t know if you can tell, but I am not good at English. The subject, not the langue (it’s my first and only language).</p><p>I won’t go into the gritty details but I have, as well as just difficulty with basic grammar and (god help me) spelling, an… “odd” way of processing things that translates weirdly when I’m talking or writing. Things are like other things I ways I can’t convey while also using proper and/or concise English but I also have this issue where I absolutely NEED to have people think and feel EXACTLY what I’m trying to convey, so it’s really hard for me to compromise. I have programs to help make sure it’s not a total mess but it still is difficult for me to use them because of said compromising issues. </p><p>What I’m trying to say is I know I can be abstract and my dialect a little “off” and convoluted as well as slow. I was (kind of am) really self-conscious about my writing for a long time and while it’s easy for me to plan and write it’s hard for me to write things that are... readable... for other people. Your support really means everything to me and I only hope you enjoy yourself reading. &lt;3 </p><p>(I can’t promise the pace will pick up too much but I will try to keep chapters coming out in under a week.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Betrayal (Ahow fuck, i cant believe you've done this)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tommy gets ready for the dinner.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm gonna try to do a few shorter chapters released faster. Enjoy! (While the good lasts)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy snuggled into his sheets. He wasn’t asleep, not fully anyway, just happily enjoying his blanket and soft bed. He was supposed to have done something a while ago but he didn’t care enough to remember what right now. His hair was still damp and that, along with the house’s general chill (he swore his dad would just live in Antarctica if he could), made him shiver. </p><p> </p><p>His head was cold, his pillow was cozy, he’d laid down to warm up, and now he could vaguely tell that too much time had passed for <em> something </em> he had been asked to do but had thought “I’ll do in a minute.” </p><p> </p><p>It was well after “a minuet” by now, but, no one had come in to yell at him yet so he decided to just enjoy as much of this not-sleep as possible. </p><p> </p><p>He rolled over, pulling his blanket tighter around him until he was a snug little burrito. </p><p> </p><p>Yes. This was great. God, he was so fucking <em> comfortable </em>. Hell yeah. </p><p> </p><p>He shifted again to bring his knees closer to his chest; he wanted to curl up so hard he disappeared into a little ball of blankets. He rolled another layer into his blanket only to-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “AHHH!“ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>-end up on the floor. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy laid there for a moment (upside-down, still halfway wrapped in his blanket) to give his heart a moment to stop pounding. Ow. Fucking <em> ow. </em>He was awake now at least. Kind of. He began to shuffle (struggle) out of his cocoon which now felt more like a prison than cozy. How the hell did blankets even end up like this? He swore something had tied them around his ankles. </p><p> </p><p>“Tommy? Are you okay?” A voice shouted from downstairs. Philza. He’d probably heard the bang from the fall.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh- YEAH! I’m fine!” </p><p> </p><p>He began to untangle himself faster. Shoot. He needed to do that thing before Phil came upstairs. That- uh- that thing he needed to do. What… what was it again? His eyes darted around his room, trying to pick up a detail that might remind him. He wasn’t late for anything, right? No, he was pretty sure it was a chore. </p><p> </p><p>He needed to- ah. His eyes fell on the pajamas he was wearing. He needed to hang up his wet clothes. He stood up and started to run towards the bathroom but apparently he hadn’t untangled his blanket all the way. He hadn’t even made one step before his foot got caught and he was sent crashing down… again… right onto his bruised arm.</p><p> </p><p>“OOWWW.”</p><p> </p><p><em> HOLY SHIT THAT </em> HURT<em>. </em> Ugh, he’d slammed his jaw into the carpet and his braces bracket had cut into his gums. He was lucky he hadn’t broken his nose (or his <em>neck </em>for that matter). Ow! </p><p> </p><p><em> “Ow, ow, ow, </em> <b> <em>FUCK</em></b><em>.” </em></p><p> </p><p>He crawled to his feet and began limping, trying to walk it off. He still had to do his stupid chore, anyway. </p><p> </p><p><em> “ </em>Uh, are you SURE you’re okay?” Phil called again from the bottom of the stairwell.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy didn’t answer, opting to just get to his destination but hadn’t taken into account the fact he needed to go by the stairs to get to the bathroom. As he limped past them he didn’t even bother to look at Phil, focusing on getting into the bathroom, but could hear the laughter begin as soon as his back was turned.</p><p> </p><p>Really, it’s like they thought just because he wasn’t looking at them he couldn’t hear. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy’s clothes were in a pile on the floor, still soaked. He picked them up and began slinging them over the shower bar to dry. They were still fucking freezing to the touch. </p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t believe how quickly it had started poring or his luck, being caught in the middle of it. On one hand, he guessed he should be grateful he was so close to home but on the other hand, he got caught in the middle of a damn <em>hailstorm</em>. Okay, it was mostly rain, and the hail that <em>was</em> there was small, light, and harmless, but still. </p><p> </p><p>Why couldn’t it ever just <em>snow</em>? He’d have no problem with the temperature if had it been just light, fluffy, snow that didn’t suddenly being beating down on him. Every other year it was always just cold, wet, rain, or hail. Even when it did snow it all usually melted into slush the next day and froze over into ice. That sucked for people driving but it made for some fun sliding around.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy remembered a few years ago when it had <em>properly </em>snowed. There was like a full blizzard and 7 feet of snow on the sides by the time everyone had piled it from off the roads, everything was canceled and closed. He and Tubbo had spent all day making caves and tunnels.  </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t expect to get anything like that again but it hadn’t even snowed basically since. It probably global warming or some shit. R.I.P. to the earth, he guessed. </p><p> </p><p>He moved to hang up his shirt but first went to get his pin off. It wasn’t there. He shook his shirt, expecting it to fall out. It didn’t. </p><p> </p><p>Darn.</p><p> </p><p>He went to go check his room, maybe he’d already taken it off and set in on his nightstand or something? He didn’t. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Damn.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He ruffled through his sheets and checked under the bed and through his drawers, twice. He even went and checked around the bathroom but still no luck. Ugh. With no other options, he stumbled his way downstairs to recruit help.</p><p> </p><p>“DAAAD! I LOST MY PIN!”</p><p> </p><p>Phil was in the kitchen with Technoblade, chatting as Techno stirred a pot. He addressed Tommy without turning around.</p><p> </p><p>“Again?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good god, Tommy. You really have to-“ he turned around and stopped mid-sentence, snorting. </p><p> </p><p>“-to… to keep an eye on that thing.”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade turned around to see what Phil was trying not to laugh at and got an evil humored look on his face Tommy knew all too well. He was about to b ridiculed for something.</p><p> </p><p>“What? What is it?” </p><p> </p><p>Phil smiled and shook his head. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine. You’re hairs just a little m-“ </p><p> </p><p>“YOOOO LOOK AT THIS MAN’S <em> HEAD </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“-AHA!” Phil abandoned his gentle explain explanation in favor of bursting out laughing at Technoblade. Figures.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s like you got caught in a hurricane, or had a cow lick your hair. Fucking- fucking c- ha!” He cut himself off to laugh.</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade swearing almost caught Tommy off guard, although he didn’t know why. Techno never swore in public or at work. He didn’t at work because he liked having a reputation that got him paid and that had kind of leaked into not swearing in public. It was just a habit, just what he was comfortable with, no big deal. He still swore at home plenty and he was home enough Tommy should be used to it. Tommy didn’t even notice when he came downstairs to find him here, not even a thought like “oh Techno’s here.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Cockatoo</em>.” Technoblade finally finished his thought. </p><p> </p><p>“Pfft.” Phil covered his mouth to hide his smile. Tommy shot him a glare; he only turned to set the table, still very clearly humored. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy snapped his attention back to Technoblade. He needed to get off the defense. </p><p> </p><p>“At least I have hair and not a fucking waterfall on my head. You probably just walk the halls and your hair sweeps up all the dust and shit on the floor like a broom.”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade took a step away from the stove and let his hair down (he had it up in a simple style, probably to keep it out of the way while cooking), and shook it out with his hands. </p><p> </p><p>“Look at this Tommy. Look. Marvel.”</p><p> </p><p>“Broom boy.”</p><p> </p><p>“I probably take more care of just my hair than you do your entire hygiene.”</p><p> </p><p>“You-“</p><p> </p><p>“No, no, I don’t think you understand what I’m saying, Tommy. This is a battle you will not win. I outclass you in every kind of attack here. I outclass you in every other situation too but that's not important right now. My point is I’m not gonna lose a battle of appearance-based insults to a teen with bird hair who hasn’t even properly grasped the concept of deodorant yet.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh yeah? Well- you have stupid teeth and smell bad.”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade blinked. </p><p> </p><p>“...stupid ...teeth?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not ugly? Or rotten? Or disfigured? Just... ‘stupid teeth’ huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“You heard me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay.” Techno raises his eyebrows as if to say ‘oh wow he’s really sticking with that.’ Tommy felt like he’d walked into a trap. “Hey, by the way, how’re those braces working out for you? You know I never needed-“</p><p> </p><p>Tommy turned and stomped away. He was done with this back-and-forth. Not because he’d lost or anything, he’d never lost anything in his life, he’d just decided he wanted to move on now. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, it’s not my fault you pick topics you’re doomed in! I guess it’s not your fault either, you’re doomed in <em>all</em> of them.” </p><p> </p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p> </p><p>He went back up to his room but stopped and turned to go look at his reflection. He reached to rub his hair, it <em>was</em> sticking up all strange. He’d been so busy defending himself he’d never actually checked what they were ridiculing. He gawked at himself in the mirror but less so than he thought he would. Phil was right, it wasn’t that bad, and it felt worse than it looked. Still, his hair was sticking up completely on the back. </p><p> </p><p>That’s was he got for laying down with his hair still wet. It was still just a tiny bit damp but had dried enough it wouldn’t go down probably. He grabbed a brush and fixed it as best as he could before going back downstairs. Technoblade was waiting for him, putting his hair back up sitting at the bottom of the stairway. Tommy plopped down next to him.</p><p> </p><p>“Sup, bastard.” </p><p> </p><p>“How’s your search for the pin- disc- circle thing going?” </p><p> </p><p>What? Oh yeah, he’d lost his disc. Wait, had he? He could’ve sworn he knew <em>where </em>it was he just didn’t have it. Where- </p><p> </p><p>OH YEAH. He left it at Wilbur’s work. </p><p> </p><p>Jeez, between the rain and the shower and the cold he’d completely forgotten. It was a damn good thing he’d remembered, he never would have found it otherwise. He’d probably just assume it was around the house somewhere. </p><p>Not to mention he would’ve missed out on his advent-</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade was snapping in his face. </p><p> </p><p>“Tommy? Hello? Did I break you?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I’m fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“So... do you still need help?”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” He feigned ignorance in a panic. He didn’t need anyone on his case, he already had a plan. </p><p> </p><p>“Did you find your-“</p><p> </p><p>“None of your business,” Tommy snapped.</p><p> </p><p>He flinched, immediately regretting it. That was a stupid move. It was completely unnecessary to be that hostile and now it was obvious he was keeping something and Techno would be more curious than befo-</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Oh, right. This was Technoblade. </p><p> </p><p>If someone had said anything like that to Tommy he wouldn’t have been able to let it go. He had once asked a classmate every second of every day he saw them what was on a note he saw them pass. It went on for a month! Turns out it was just a dumb crush. He felt a little bad when they had started crying, but still, he’d gotten his answer. (He also gave them the dessert out of his lunch for the next few weeks... he tried to be more sensitive now. Did he succeed? Eh...) The point is Tommy <em>cared </em>about what he didn’t know, Techno decidedly didn’t. </p><p> </p><p>“Hmm. I guess I just have a more- more detective- a smarter mind than you.” </p><p> </p><p>Nailed it. </p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy began to zone out, fiddling with the button on his pajamas as the conversation melted into their casual insult matches. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re still ugly.” </p><p> </p><p>“False, my hair is still better than yours.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I’m gonna put gum in it.” </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade scrunched up his face, which was extremely odd. Had Tommy actually managed to offend him? Had he managed to strike a nerve in his stoic, apathetic, too-powerful-to-even-be-upset-at-the-idea-of-a-threat-or-insult brother?</p><p> </p><p>“Not if you want to keep breathing you’re not.”</p><p> </p><p>Oh my god, he had. Tommy felt giddy. He never had any ammo in fights like these. Well, guess what? He did now and was riding this out as far as he could, bitch.</p><p> </p><p>“What, you gonna kill me?” He scoffed.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s...” Techno sighed and facepalmed, defensive aura wilting. “...exactly what I just threatened. We really need to work on your self-preservation skills.”</p><p> </p><p>“Pfft, I’m not scared of you. I am a big man.” </p><p> </p><p>Tommy stood up to emphasize his point. </p><p> </p><p>“You know something? I’m probably gonna be bigger than you. Then what, bitch? I’ll chew up a whole pack and smush it right onto your head (which I will be super high above) and you’ll have to shave to get it all off. You’d be completely bald. Baldnoblade, I’ll call you that. I’ll call you whatever I want and you won’t be able to do anything about it. I could have my hair sticking up like a peacock with glitter in it and shit and you couldn’t even make fun of me. You couldn’t say a word. I’d...”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade had slowly stood to full height while Tommy rambled about his little fantasy. He coldly glared at Tommy but didn’t say a word, just letting him flounder for a moment, enjoying it. </p><p> </p><p>“...I’d- I- I would...”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>We </em>really <em>need to work on your self-preservation skills... </em> <b> <em>Tommy</em> </b> <em> .” </em></p><p> </p><p>He put an especially menacing emphasis on Tommy’s name, sending shivers up his spine. He was suddenly reminded why it was considered so terrifying to go up against Techno in court, but those lawyer guys were cowards. You had rules in court. Protection. Things that restrained Technoblade from doing more than speaking in a dark, menacing, tone and making distressingly infuriating insults.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy had no such luxuries as he faced his towering brother.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey- hey- I’m good! We’re good! C’mon now, my friend. My frieeend. There’s no need- hey, we’re all good, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, there’s some preservation instincts finally kicking in. It’s much too late a reaction though, we could still improve it quite a bit.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy shivered and braced himself. For what? He didn’t know exactly, but something.  </p><p> </p><p>“I have an idea for an exercise we can try right now,” Techno’s face twisted into a subtle grin as he began to reach out, mockingly and slowly as possible. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey. Hey! HEY! <em> HEY!”  </em></p><p> </p><p>Tommy shot backward, hitting his back against the rail of the stairs in his panicked attempt to dodge. </p><p> </p><p>Suddenly Techno’s hand shot out. He managed to grab Tommy’s wrist just before he bolted up the stairs but in reaction, he pulled himself out of his grip by barreling in the other direction. </p><p> </p><p>He ran, screaming, to the front of the house where he saw Phil (Safety?) speaking to Wilbur (SAFETY!) at the front door. </p><p> </p><p>Both of their heads snapped to him as he came towards them (probably on account of all the screaming). He threw himself behind his newly arrived brother.</p><p> </p><p>“WILBUR! WILBUR! HELP ME! HE’S TRYING TO KILL ME!” </p><p> </p><p>“WHAT? WHERE? WHO?” Wilbur set two confused and panicked arms on Tommy’s shoulders, glancing around the house.</p><p> </p><p>“ME,” Technoblade called as he appeared, causing Tommy to scream again. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, okay.” Wilbur shrugged, going from 60 to -3 in an instant.</p><p> </p><p>Still, Tommy breathed a sigh of relief. He now had Wilbur standing between him and danger. Technoblade was obviously not going to actually kill him, but pissed-off brothers could still be things you want to avoid, even if (sometimes <em>especially </em>if) they’re joking around, but he didn’t have to worry anymore. Now he had Wilbur here to take the fall for him and Phil to meditate. He stuck his tongue out at Techno from his little blanket of safety. He could relax here. </p><p> </p><p>At least, he <em>thought </em>he could relax... until Wilbur suddenly tightened his arms around his shoulders, grabbing him. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur yanked Tommy in front of him, and cheerily exclaimed “I’ll hold him in place for you, Techno!”</p><p> </p><p>As Phil burst out laughing (<em>again</em>, that bastard) Tommy could only struggle and yell. </p><p> </p><p>“BITCH, WHAT THE FUCK?!” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>5</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. And they were family (oh my god they were family)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wilbur arrives for the dinner.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HEY! I see you being nice in the comments there! I love you and your kind words mean so much to me you don't even know. I'm so happy you like this story. So long as you want to keep reading I will keep writing!</p><p>---</p><p>I have discovered text to speech extensions are my friend! Proofreading is so much easier with a voice there to mispronounce the words and to highlight where you're at. Holy SHIT, is my life gonna be so much easier.</p><p>Day 2 of my short chapters quicker upload spree. I'm surprised I made it this far. The next chapter will actually be a short one (this one got away from me a little but I guess that's not something to complain about) but dense. Some Techno POV, probably not as much dialogue to pad.<br/>—<br/>As always, enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wilbur had gotten here much earlier than he’d expected, even after he’d waited out that sudden downpour. He felt a bit bad about how he’d rushed Eret out now, seeing how he’d had plenty of time for her to stick around and help. Oh well, it’s not like ze left on a sour note or anything. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur took a deep breath as he walked up to the front door, admiring the greenery. He didn’t visit home very often. Usually, he got his family time out around town or even at his own apartment. (Most often Tommy would find him, no matter where he was, and then they’d hang out together for a bit.) </p><p> </p><p>It was a strange sense of nostalgia, walking back to his childhood home.</p><p> </p><p>He supposed what made it so strange was that it wasn’t <em> just </em> his “childhood home.” It wasn’t some faraway memory he was walking into, he had no reason to feel nostalgic. Phil and Tommy still lived there and Techno was over so frequently he might as well too. Even Wilbur would drop by himself now and then, though not often. Not often for this family, at least. Still, it was his family house where his father still lived, it wasn’t too far, and sometimes he needed to help Phil with something, so he came around regularly enough.</p><p> </p><p>Also to check in with Tommy, who was technically well past old enough to be by himself, but Wilbur knew him and Tubbo would probably level the city if not for the threat of Wilbur’s sudden visits. Besides, Tommy showed up at his places plenty, why shouldn’t he return the favor? Not to mention he- ah- would often join in their shenanigans. What could he say? They were fun! He was just a chaperone. It’s not like he came up with most of the crazy ideas and then roped them into... uh... hmm...</p><p> </p><p>He shook his head and reached for the doorknob. That... that wasn’t <em>important</em>. </p><p> </p><p>It took a moment for Phil to answer the door. He had silverware in his hands and a sly smile on his face that grew into a genuine grin when he saw Wilbur. </p><p> </p><p>“Will! I didn’t expect you so early, we haven’t even set the table yet.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur leaned down to give/accept a quick but slightly unreasonably tight hug. Man, he was so happy to be here and he hadn’t even closed the front door yet. Techno ragged on him for being a family sap a whole fucking bunch and he deserved every word of it. Although, Techno was one to talk, what with being the most daddy’s boy to ever have a dad.</p><p> </p><p>“We got done much earlier than I expected. We probably could’ve done more but Niki had a date.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aw, that’s nice.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, she seems really happy. How are you? How’s raising Tommy without me or Techno going? I see the house isn’t burned to the ground yet, that’s a good sign.”</p><p> </p><p>Phil took a sharp breath, smiling. “Wilbur, you seem to be convinced Tommy is the problem child.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, isn’t he?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, you were. Trust me, anything he throws at me you already shot through a rocket launcher.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur put an offended look on his face and innocently pointed to himself. Phil curtly nodded.</p><p> </p><p>“Tommy’s lighting candles around blankets,” Wilbur blurted out. </p><p> </p><p>“Motherfucker, you set off fireworks and homemade explosions!” </p><p> </p><p>“Pfft, okay, that’s fair I guess. So Tommy’s been an angel, then? No horror stories?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, he’s harmless, Will. Most of his ‘problematic behavior’ is more funny than anything- I shouldn’t be saying that, I’m his dad, but... I mean, it’s true. You remember when he snuck out to surprise Tubbo?” </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur snorted. Baby’s first arrest.</p><p> </p><p>“Actually, he had a rather bad, humorous, day today. You know that storm earlier? Well, when it started he wasn’t home-“</p><p> </p><p>“STILL? I had kicked him hours ago by then! What was he doing?”</p><p> </p><p>“God knows what, hopefully not finding another ‘case.’ Anyways, I was panicking because he didn’t even have a coat on-“</p><p> </p><p>“Dumbass.”</p><p> </p><p>“-but just as I was going out to drive around and find him he comes <em> screaming </em> in through the front door.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, at least he was relatively close,” Wilbur snickered, picturing the scene in his head crystal clear. Tommy had probably looked like a wet cat, as pissed as he was soaked. </p><p> </p><p>“I told him to go take a hot shower and, for a while, he just stayed upstairs while Techno and I cooked and cleaned. I think he took a nap, which he needed. (I don’t think the boy slept at all last night.) Techno and I had mostly finished, we were just chatting while the soup cooked, when suddenly we heard a ‘thump’ and a scream. I called and asked if everything was alright and Tommy said he was fine so I assumed he’d just fallen and moved on. Just a little bit later, however, we heard an even louder ‘THUD’ and Tommy scream ‘OW!’ I was on the verge of going up to help at this point but seconds later we heard one, sharp, muffled, ‘FUCK!’ from upstairs. I decided to let him be.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur was nearly pissing himself at this point, he had to lean against the wall for stability, banging it once or twice as he laughed. </p><p> </p><p>“Anyway, a while later he called down complaining he’d lost his pin and then came down with a bad case of bed head. Technoblade described it best, ‘like a cockatoo.’ Guess that’s what happens when you lay down with wet hair. I had to leave the room to set the table so I wouldn’t laugh at him outright. It’s been a... strange day in terms of Tommy Innit.”</p><p> </p><p>“Where is he right now?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, I went to set the table and then came to answer the door. I think he’s talking with Technoblade.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh oh.”</p><p> </p><p>“Probably. Oh, sorry, I’ve just been keeping you in the doorway this whole time! Please, come in. You can put your coat wherever and since you came so early you can also help get ready.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur jokingly groaned as Philza began to hand over the cutlery but they both froze at a sudden and faint screaming that quickly grew louder.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy came sprinting into the room at top speed. He ducked behind Wilbur and grabbed onto him like he was holding on for dear life, screaming that he was going to die, terror sheen in his voice. Protective mode kicked in full force. Wilbur protectively grabbed Tommy by the shoulders while his head swiveled around searching for any kind of danger, the panic making him forget they were inside his own home. </p><p> </p><p>“WHAT? WHERE? WHO?” </p><p> </p><p>“ME.” Technoblade’s voice rang out as he slid into view, the malicious joy of a hunt shining clearly in his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Despite the fact that Techno was probably a worst-case scenario for most people, even him, any and all concern evaporated instantly. Oh. Okay. That’s fine then. No one was going to die... probably. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur took a second to look from Tommy (who was taunting Techno from behind him) to Techno (who squinted subtly at Wilbur, a challenge). He glanced back and forth between them a few more times before, raising his eyebrows at Technoblade, he tightened his grip on Tommy and held him out as tribute. </p><p> </p><p>Putting on the cheeriest tone could he announced “I’ll hold him in place!” </p><p> </p><p>He flinched a little, but smiling, at the explosion of reactions to his betrayal. Tommy was screaming insults and curses, Phil was laughing, and he was pretty sure Technoblade was trying not to. Tommy struggled and kicked but Wilbur would not let him out of his grip. </p><p> </p><p>He’d been wrestling his little brother from the day they’d met, keeping him from roads, stairs, knives, dragging him to school, dragging him home, dragging him down from trees, dragging him into trees, dragging him up abandoned buildings, dragging him up <em>not </em>abandoned buildings, etc. It was child’s play to keep his arms locked and inescapable.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur suspected Tommy’s accidentally suicidal tendencies were a big reason Phil decided to “retire.” Well, that and Techno’s issues... and his own problems, he guessed. Yeah, it was probably mostly him. He remembered Phil citing him ‘starting some kind of gang or cult every other week’ for a specific reason. Hmm. Anyway, point is, he knew how to handle Tommy. </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade got over the turn relatively quickly and shook his head, reaching a hand out to Tommy only to ruffle his hair. Tommy tried to flinch away but was forced to succumb to the head pats. His hair... it looked kind of ridiculous when all was done. Wilbur snorted. Tommy elbowed him in the side, sharply. Oof… he let Tommy have that one, he deserved it. </p><p> </p><p>“Ahhh, you know what? I’ll pass for now. I think he learned his lesson,” Technoblade grinned. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy growled. He fucking <em> growled</em>. </p><p> </p><p>“…Eh, maybe not, but we’ll break those bones when we get to them.” </p><p> </p><p>“That’s not-“</p><p> </p><p>“Alrighty everyone,” Phil announced, “dinner’s gonna get cold if we stand here all night, let’s go finish setting the table and wash up. Also, I’m beginning to worry someone’s gonna hear this screaming and call the cops on us.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh come on, that hasn’t happened in <em> years.”  </em></p><p> </p><p><em> “</em>You wanna eat or what?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur shrugged and grabbed the utensils out of Phil’s hands to place around the table. Plates and bowls were already set up so all he needed to do was grab some cups and napkins. Technoblade and Phil brought out the food. It smelled delicious. Techno had made a miniature feast including a vinaigrette beet salad with some feta to sprinkle over it, rolls and broth dip, and some potato pie. There were so many spices and veggies and sauces, Wilbur’s mouth watered a little at the sight and smell of it all. He absent-mindedly reached to grab a bit for a taste test.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t stick your hand in the food bowl,” Tommy complained, snapping Wilbur out of his little flavor world.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t tell me what to do.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s just basic manners.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> You </em> don’t get to lecture <em> anyone </em> about manners, kid.” Technoblade had entered with the soup. The aroma was delicious and spicy, Wilbur hoped it was mild enough for him to eat it, though. Techno had a habit of going overboard with the Nether spices. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not a kid!” </p><p> </p><p>“You are a child, Tommy,” Techno said solemnly as though he was diagnosing him. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m NOT a CHILD!” Tommy whined (like a child).</p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur, can you move that hot-pad over?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure, here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t ignore me!”</p><p> </p><p>“Apologies, toddler” Wilbur shoved him to the side so he could pull his chair out. “Now sit down.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy huffed and sat in his chair, arms folded grumpily.</p><p> </p><p>“Did everyone wash their hands?” Philza asked, turning off the kitchen light so the dining room’s lighting was soft and warm.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, we all did.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, even the baby?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’M NOT A BABY! Phil! They’re <em> bullying </em> me!”</p><p> </p><p>“Quiet, infant,” Phil scolded as he began to dish up his plate.</p><p> </p><p>“Wh- I- <em> hey!“ </em></p><p> </p><p>Wilbur was laughing his ass off as Techno cheered Phil on. Phil only kept politely serving himself food. Tommy folded his arms crossly and sunk into his chair.</p><p> </p><p>“I hate this fucking family.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, <em> sure </em> you do, Tommy.” Wilbur rolled his eyes as he also began to dish up.</p><p> </p><p>“What? You think you’re something special?”</p><p> </p><p>“Pfft, <em> yes</em>. You’d be dead a million times over if it weren’t for my careful guidance. You’re <em> nothing </em>without me, Tommy Innit.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hah! Guidance? Like what? How to be a loser with a shitty job who’s too scared of his bosses to let me hang around for an extra two minutes?”</p><p> </p><p>“First of all, you had been there for like 20 extra minutes already, and, second of all, I’m not <em>scared </em>of my bosses. I mean, have you <em>met </em>them? What is there to be scared about? That Schlatt will make up a really bad joke about me he won’t finish? That Quackity-”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe that Quackity is funner than you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Funner isn’t a word.”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s cooler than you.” </p><p> </p><p><em>“</em><b><em>False</em></b>, Quackity isn’t cooler than <em>anyone</em>. He can’t even put his shirt on the right way most days.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, he’s a fine young lad, Wilbur,” Phil chimed in. “You don’t need to get so defensive, I seriously doubt Tommy prefers any other brother figure to you.” </p><p> </p><p>“A ‘fine young lad?’ God, you’re such an old man, Phil.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you’re such a sensitive twat.“</p><p> </p><p>“Mmm,” Techno nodded his way into the conversation, taking a second to chew and swallow his mouthful of food before speaking. “Quackity? Is that the 'Big Q' guy who hangs around sometimes? Blue jacket? Weird… weird fucking smile?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Wait, have you never met him?” Wilbur asked, surprised. Quackity was a certified family friend at this point, he’d even gone on a trip or two with Tommy, Tubbo, Phil, and himself. It was weird to think about but… he never was around when Technoblade was. Now that Wilbur thought about it, he seemed to actively avoid Technoblade. He seemed… scared. Reasonable, Wilbur guessed. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I’ve met him. I’ve met him.” Technoblade took a sip from his cup. “Guy’s a freak.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh. Ominous.” Wilbur turned back to Tommy. “Also, I’m not even going to work there for much longer. I’m running for a council seat and if I get elected that will be my full-time job.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, what?”</p><p> </p><p>“That reminds me, how did your meeting go? I know it ended early.”</p><p> </p><p>“It was great! The only ‘problem’ (if you can call it that) was Eret wanted to run too. We talked it out and decided on me but honestly if he was going to run I eventually I wouldn’t feel bad if they got elected.”</p><p> </p><p>“Guys,” Tommy cut back into the conversation, “don’t ignore me, WHAT?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m running for a council seat.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really?”</p><p> </p><p>“Really.”</p><p> </p><p>“When you win, can I have drugs?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur blinked, processing the sentence. Had- had he just said <em>when?</em> Tommy had definitely just said when. Not <em>if</em>, when. When Wilbur won. When. He didn’t even hesitate, he instantly came to the conclusion Wilbur could do it. That he <em>would </em>do it. Wilbur teared up a little inside. Did Tommy really believe in him that much? Was his faith in his big brother so strong there was no doubt in his mind he could do this? That’s… that indirectly was the nicest thing Tommy had ever said to him.</p><p> </p><p>“Tommy, that’s the n-“ </p><p> </p><p>Then the rest of the sentence hit him.</p><p> </p><p>“NO, YOU CANNOT ‘<em>HAVE DRUGS.’ </em>What kind of fucking question is that?”</p><p> </p><p>“A good one, bitch. Why not? If I were ever in charge I’d let you have whatever you want.”</p><p> </p><p>“BECAUSE- aww, you would?”</p><p> </p><p>“No! I hate you,” Tommy, realizing the implications of what he’d said, desperately tried to backtrack. Too late.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Awwwwwwwwwwww</em>, do you <em>care </em>about me, Tommy? Am I a good brother? Do you look up to me and want me to think you’re cool?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>No</em>. No, don’t ‘aw.’ Don’t you dare!”</p><p> </p><p>“D’awww,” Phil and Techno chimed in at the same time.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy buried his head in his pajama shirt. “Shut up, shut up, shut up! How <em> dare </em>you.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur mockingly planted his head in his hands like he was staring at the most lovely thing in the world. </p><p> </p><p>“Aww, Tommy. Remember when you used to say things like that? Remember when you couldn’t pronounce the ‘ur’ sound and you’d go around talking about ‘dinosoups’ and the soft ‘foor’ on the doggies. Oh, and you’d call me ‘Wilby?’ Call me Wilby, Tommy.”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Toooommmyyyy, c’mon.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll call you a <em> bitch</em>.” </p><p> </p><p>“Just say it, Tommy. It will make him so happy,” Technoblade spoke up. </p><p> </p><p>“It will! It will! Oh, <em> pleeeeeaaasee!” </em></p><p> </p><p>While Wilbur was being obnoxious with his tone and language he was only half-mocking about the request at this point. He actually would love to hear Tommy call him that again, even as a joke. It just held so many wonderful memories and feelings. It had brought him so much joy to have a tiny Tommy following him everywhere like a duckling, copying everything he said and did (or, trying to). It had absolutely delighted him when Tommy couldn’t figure out how to pronounce something like his name and made up new words instead. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe it delighted him a little too much, as he would always talk in the same patterns as Tommy which may have stunted his learning of the proper pronunciation. Honestly, with Techno so quiet and Phil either busy or as bad as Wilbur, <em> Tubbo </em>might be the only reason Tommy ever ended up speaking normally.</p><p> </p><p>“No.” </p><p> </p><p>“Ugh, fine.” </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur sunk back into his chair and fake moped. Tommy flipped him off from across the table, Wilbur stuck out his tongue in return. Tommy jumped up, knocking his leg against the table and scaring the shit out of everyone eating. </p><p> </p><p>“OH! OOH! Wilbur stuck his tongue out at me, did you see that? Who’s the child now, <em> bitch?”</em> </p><p> </p><p>“You,” everyone else said in chorus. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy deflated, unable to think of a response to being shut down so quickly and thoroughly. He opened his mouth to stammer but instead shut it and slunk back into his seat, genuinely moping. He miserably rubbed his leg where he’d banged it against the table. Wilbur chose to be sympathetic.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, are you alright Tommy? I feel like that’s the millionth injury you’ve gotte-“</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up. I’m not a child, I’m a big man and all that. Don’t baby me.” </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur obliged, shrugging. A few small feelings of concern still lingered but he did his best to back off. If he didn’t want to be helped he wouldn’t be helped. It’s not that Wilbur didn’t think Tommy couldn’t handle some cuts and bruises, he just wanted Tommy to know people cared if/when he got hurt. He was as guilty of dismissing Tommy as anyone and sometimes that guilt just hit- OW. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy had kicked his leg under the table. Okay, feeling gone, Tommy was clearly fine. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur debated kicking him back before deciding to be the bigger person and ignore it, choosing to focus on his meal. He took a sip of soup and smiled. Man, he hadn’t realized how much he missed this. Technoblade’s cooking and deadpan quips, Phil trying (and failing) not to enjoy the antics, Tommy being a child, everyone bullying Tommy for being a child, it was just nice to be home again. </p><p> </p><p>He honestly wasn’t sure why he was so surprised at the chaos. Yeah, the majority of them were adults but it’s not as though their sleepy little family had or would ever really be sleepy. If not this joyful bickering and disarray, what <em>had </em>he expected? </p><p> </p><p>Things were actually incredibly mild all things considered. Wilbur shrugged to himself and enjoyed another spoonful of deliciousness. Whatever, he wasn’t here to write a report on his oddly placed nostalgia, if you could even call it that. It was just good to be here and now, with his family. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>4</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. What up, his name is Techno, he's a pig, and he never fucking learned how to be outwardly emotionally vulnerable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Techno reflects on his family life.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Projection: the chapter. Yeah, Techno doesn’t actually hear voices in this universe because there’s not actually a Blood God. In order to realify that I’d have to give him things I am not comfortable writing not the least of which because I have absolutely no idea how. Instead, have some points taken from my own disorders I DO know how to write! Yayyyyy.<br/>—<br/>Sorry I'm a little late. This chapter is also long. I am incapable of summarizing. I write and then I don’t finish because it has to be the way I think and that’s long. I have nothing to say for myself. The next chapter’s probably gonna be… idk, as long as it needs to be. I'm clearly incapable of making proper estimations. Guess that might have an upside. I just hope you enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Technoblade sat quietly listening to his brothers’ back and forth. Although he’d been relatively silent for most of the dinner he felt far from excluded. This was how family dinners would normally go, Tommy and Wilbur arguing about some meaningless thing, Technoblade listening half zoned out, and Phil just enjoying everyone’s company. </p><p> </p><p>Yeah, this is what their family considered pleasant company. Fighting, it’s how they functioned. Not just arguments either, physical fights were also a foundation of family peace, or, used to be. </p><p> </p><p>Techno and Wilbur had moved out so never really saw each other long enough to bother. Everyone had outgrown the need to have Phil physically wrangle them into place. Wilbur and Tommy still had skirmishes but they’d never really <em>fought. </em>Technoblade was an adult now so kicking children was especially frowned upon, ridiculously. But, yeah, fist fighting was considered acceptable bonding time. </p><p> </p><p>Honestly, tonight felt incredibly toned down, a little dull even. This is probably what passed for their best behavior. Whatever, that might be a good thing. This was a celebration, after all. </p><p> </p><p>The whole point of the dinner was to honor Phil’s return to work. (Also because Technoblade was just a little homesick but actually no he was fine, shut up.) It didn’t really feel like it was anything special though, just a normal family dinner. </p><p> </p><p>That reminded Technoblade he had… he needed to- uh. Uhhhh. He subconsciously began pinching his finger under the table, a habit he had when he was nervous or unsure.  </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade loved a few things. Phil (obviously), certain parts of his work, potatoes, etc. The list isn’t very extensive but it goes on. Public speaking was not on that list. In fact, it was on the opposite list. This was odd considering his entire job revolved around speeches. </p><p> </p><p>Most people were surprised, claiming it clashed with his general quick wit and cool head, but it was true. Capable as he was, <em> strong </em> as he was, he couldn’t stand being under pressure. Even in situations where the pressure was brought on by himself he was easy to panic and act out, sometimes harshly. He just had anxiety, it was irrational, plain and simple.</p><p> </p><p>This is why, even only speaking in front of his family members whom either would not judge him or for whose opinions he did not care about, he froze. He almost wanted to laugh at himself, in court he’d cut down leviathans without breaking a sweat but he couldn’t even congratulate his own father in front of his own brothers at a dinner he’d organized specifically to do so. It was comical but not as strange as the surface.</p><p> </p><p> In court, there were high stakes. He had strategies and adrenaline to help him course the river, no matter how rocky or rapid it became it was still a <em> river. </em> He knew what would happen, no matter what. He could make it through or he could crash; he knew what crashing was and all the consequences it entailed. The courtroom was a battlefield and Technoblade was a <em> fighter</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Anywhere else though? An ocean. He had an objective but no set path. He dreaded the day something happened during a case where the river emptied into an ocean, as unlikely as it was. It wasn’t that the possibilities were any worse, it was just they were so <em>unknown</em>. Even when they weren’t. Take right now for example, what was going to happen? </p><p> </p><p>He could stutter and stumble (and he’d hate it but) then Phil would thank him and it would be over. His brothers could insult him but that was bound to happen anyways and, even when it was sincere, he rarely cared. He could give a perfect speech and still feel a little embarrassed. Or, a million combinations of those things could happen, it would all likely end the same. There weren’t that many likelihoods here but since there were no set walls everything felt equally possible. </p><p> </p><p>Techno gazed around the table. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur was earnestly cleaning his plate, having given up on persuading Tommy to indulge him. Technoblade envied Wilbur, which was odd to realize. Techno had a lot of problems, anger, pride, obsession, etc. <em> Envy </em>was not one he often felt (at least not consciously), yet here he was, jealous of his twin. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur always had a way with words. He could talk to people and, more than that, he could <em>convince </em>people. Yeah, that was basically Techno’s entire career but Wilbur did it so casually. He wasn’t trying to tear down arguments, he wasn’t <em>trying </em>at all. He just… talked and people agreed with him. </p><p> </p><p>Sometimes Techno wondered if Wilbur realized just how charismatic he was but then remembered the numerous clubs (Gangs. Cults?) his brother had started in school. If Wilbur wasn’t at his full potential <em>then</em>… Techno shuddered. He didn’t want to think what kind of fucked-up world would exist if Wilbur had such power and influence. If anyone was going to take over the world it should be Phil and maybe him. </p><p>Hypothetical dictatorships aside, those skills would help Wilbur win these elections. Technoblade felt pride for him swell up in his heart. He was so grateful for his natural poker face, he could never let Wilbur know that his ego was towing a line as it was.</p><p> </p><p>Next, his eyes were drawn to Tommy greedily dishing more and more rolls into his plate, breaking them apart to dunk in his soup. Techno envied Tommy… significantly <em>less</em>. Yes, he was confident, but that was more a flaw than a strength. Besides, Technoblade was confident, he just also made sure he could back it up. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy was all flair no punch. It was less that he could talk and more that he couldn’t shut up. It was harsh to write him off though, Tommy was young. He would grow up and fuck up and learn just like everyone else. He had what others might call passion but what Techno called unbridled rage that manifested as various emotions and obsessions. He and Techno were… kinda similar… except Techno wasn’t an idiot. Oh well, plenty of idiots got far in life. (You didn’t <em> need </em> to be a lawyer to know that but it helped.)</p><p> </p><p>Finally, Technoblade’s gaze rested on Philza. He breathed easier just looking at him. Phil… man, Phil. He really owed everything to him. Not just because he’d taken him off the streets, he’d also taught him, inspired him, stuck with him through everything. Even the really unsavory parts. Techno recalls Phil joking how “no other child could be such a bad influence on themself.” It was a fond memory but it held a sting to it, a truth. </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade always had voices in the back of his mind. Sometimes it was a joke, sometimes it was paranoid, sometimes it pleaded for other’s sakes, but mostly it demanded. </p><p> </p><p>Demand for protection, for sacrifice, for bloodlust. Not out of anger or fear, just the euphoria of control. Of power. It painted danger everywhere, screamed and <em>demanded</em>, so Technoblade obliged. He worked. He prepared and prepared so he’d always be ready. So he’d be <em> more </em> than ready. It was never a question of flight or fight for him. When all else failed he’d <em>fight</em>, one way or another… and ‘all else’ ended up failing quite often. </p><p> </p><p>Phil hadn’t tried to change this, even when his Teachers and councilors were breathing down Techno’s neck Phil had firmly stood by him. He’d said so many times there wasn’t anything wrong with being a fighter, it was just a matter of how you went into battle. Techno felt like he had been surprised at this but didn’t know why.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t know what he’d expected when he got adopted. He didn’t remember having really <em> any </em> expectations but, then again, he didn’t remember much of anything. He wasn’t very old but he wasn’t anywhere near a baby, certainly old enough to have a working memory bank.</p><p> </p><p>Despite this, he couldn’t recall much of his life before Phil. Of course, most people have trouble thinking of things from early in their childhood but most could at least come up with <em>something</em>. Wilbur talked about his memories of playing in the dirt and mud. Tommy had vague memories of events Techno remembers he was young as four or five in. Techno though? Nothing. Maybe the faint outline of a room or smell but barely anything you’d really call a memory. </p><p> </p><p>It didn’t bother him at all. If it was so unimportant he couldn’t think about it enough to remember it, it wasn’t important enough to care about. As far as Techno was concerned his life started the day he was brought home. </p><p> </p><p>His mind fell back to what felt like a lifetime ago but simultaneously yesterday, his first year here when it was just him and Phil. God, it had been quiet. At least, all the moments he remembered were. That wasn’t a good or bad thing on its own, he had plenty of cherished memories with his loud, wild, brothers, there was simply a tranquility when it was only the two of them. </p><p> </p><p>He still felt it now when they hung out alone. There was something so <em> special </em> about the quiet in moments he remembered, though. </p><p> </p><p>Sleeping on the floor of Phil’s room because he didn’t want to sleep alone but didn’t want to share a bed. Softly being read to about metals and historical trade systems because Phil didn’t yet own any children’s books, then later still reading them because Techno liked them better. Sitting patiently outside Phil’s office while he talked to a client, supposedly reading but really listening in. </p><p> </p><p>Then came Wilbur. Technoblade didn’t know if he was supposed to end up as his brother. He wasn’t sure how you could be an accident when you were adopted but he was fairly certain Wilbur had somehow managed. Philza never talked about <em> why </em>he adopted Will, Techno supposed because it would be a shitty thing to discuss with your newly adopted child and to avoid comparisons between the two of them. Part of Techno was convinced he didn’t know either. </p><p> </p><p>No matter the reason, Technoblade suddenly had a brother. It was difficult to have another child in the house at first. He’d gotten used to Phil and was angry at this 'leech.' He didn’t see him as a new member of the family at first, just some weird intruder. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur did a lot to change that. From the moment they’d locked eyes Wilbur had asked and offered and <em>complimented</em>. Ugh, so many compliments. It wore down and warmed up Technoblade. After some boundaries had been properly set he really found himself… <em> appreciating </em>this weird hyper child, disregard for rules and all. </p><p> </p><p>He’d eventually go as far as calling the pair of them twins. This was false, obviously, they didn’t even have the same birthday but Wilbur had proclaimed it and so it was. They didn’t know Technoblade’s actual birthdate but legally it had been estimated to be sometime in September, coincidentally, two days behind Wilbur’s. Actually- </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade stopped chewing, blank-faced. It could be that he was a year-ish <em> younger </em> than Wilbur. He’d always assumed he was either older or the same but it was entirely possible it was the other way around. What. <em> Heh? </em> This was so weird. The certainty of every dynamic his life was built on suddenly felt like it could crumble. It wasn’t even that he would be upset or salty about it, it wasn’t necessarily <em> bad… </em> it was just <em> weird</em>. Blugh.</p><p> </p><p>He took a bite of soup to rid the strange taste that revelation left in his mouth. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t care to think of him and Wilbur in terms of older or younger, just… <em> different </em> was the word for it, he supposed. Huh. He guessed he really <em> did </em> think of them as twins even if, legally, they were two days apart… and Wilbur was taller. He didn’t care about that, of course. He only wished people would stop seeming so surprised at the fact. Wilbur was a ridiculously tall individual, he was taller than <em> everyone.  </em></p><p> </p><p>In fact, the only person who wasn’t shorter than him was Tubbo’s roommate. He liked that guy. He was a strange kid, always writing, but Techno liked him. He was nice to Tommy even after he’d scared him half to death trying to break into his room. </p><p> </p><p>Oh god, <em> that </em> had been fantastic. He hadn’t laughed like that, well, maybe ever. He was… well <em> proud </em> wasn’t the right word. Appreciative, maybe, of Tommy. He was so angry but so very loving. It was hilarious to watch people think he was some kind of cold-hearted rebellious delinquent only to have him run off with presents for Tubbo or Wilbur. He wasn’t malicious, only curious with no preconceived boundaries. </p><p> </p><p>Techno guessed he might be biased on that, considering his idea of current Tommy took into account his baby years but he didn’t think he was wrong. You didn’t have to look hard to see that tiny, timid, clingy child holding onto Wilbur in this tall, loud, clingy, child tailing behind Tubbo. If you knew what you were looking for you could still see timidness or at least traces of fear. He talked a big game but that’s all he was, talk. He was still scared of things unknown or out of his control, it’s just his reaction to fear has evolved from crying to insulting. Also swearing, lots of swearing. He was like candy, sweet underneath a layer of sour (or in this case vulgar) coating but that coating was still an important part of the whole. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy had been a crybaby child. He was fine so long as he had what he wanted (which was usually just to be held) but he’d get so sad at everything. Techno had thought having a boy his age around was strange but he was <em> not </em> prepared to have a baby brother. He was so small and fragile. Wilbur spent so much time with him he probably talked more to a Tommy who hadn’t learned to talk back yet than he did with Phil and Techno combined. </p><p> </p><p>As Tommy grew older he remained quiet, kinda shy, but when he couldn’t have who he wanted with him he’d sob. For example, look at how he’d reacted when they’d found Tubbo. They’d only talked for maybe half an hour but he was obsessed. He’d cried when Phil left the kid at the police station and then demanded him for weeks, months even! He wouldn’t let it go. Never did, Technoblade supposed. Now he was old enough to learn to drive (oh god, rest in peace pedestrians) and still couldn’t let people go. A strength, a weakness, maybe neither. Maybe it was just how Tommy was.</p><p>(If Tommy ever DID end up being taller than him he would- well, he'd probably do nothing, but he'd <em>hate </em>it. Not because of the height itself, again, he wasn't insecure like that. Rather because of the power trip, it would give Tommy. He would, quite literally, never hear the end of it.)</p><p>It had been strange, watching someone grow up in his own home. Being there for this random child’s first words, first steps, first day of school, but over time he found himself thinking of Tommy less like a weird kid who lived in his house and more like a friend, more like a brother. A small, useless, fragile brother he got to boss around. </p><p> </p><p>He thought about Tommy and Wilbur and Philza. His whole family, thinking about all of it stretched out like that, it was such a feeling. He couldn’t describe it. Nostalgic but current. Like wistful but grateful. It was just warm- no, warm wasn’t the right word for it. Cool. Cool like an icy crystal cave, full of wonder and safety, danger and familiarity. Magical. Technoblade he… he… </p><p> </p><p> He sounded like a nerd.</p><p> </p><p>Ugh, he felt like an anime protagonist giving some abhorred kind of recap about how great everyone was and how close they’d all become. Ick. Phil would watch anime a lot when he was little and Techno had absorbed plenty of it through background noise so he could say that and mean it. Side note, Phil was such a weeb. </p><p> </p><p>Also, he was a really good dad who this whole thing was for but nobody had said or done anything to make it seem that way so Techno really needed to say the thing now or else it would be weird. </p><p> </p><p>Say it. Come on, don’t work yourself up just open your mouth and make words saying ‘good job.’ Just say it. Just- no, don’t keep repeating the same thing over and over. That isn’t going to make you do it it’s just gonna make you spiral. Don’t tell yourself to just-</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade cleared his throat. </p><p> </p><p>Everyone looked up at him. They all seemed to be nearly done with their food so this was a good time, right before everyone left the table. He took a breath.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey Techno, what’s this called?” Tommy pointed to his bowl.</p><p> </p><p>What? Really? </p><p> </p><p>“It’s- that’s <em> soup</em>, Tommy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, but what’s it called?”</p><p> </p><p>“Potato soup?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, it’s not! I’ve had potato soup. Potato soup is creamy.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s soup, it has potatoes in it, it’s potato soup.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy frowned, suspicious.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Tommy. I-“</p><p> </p><p>“You’re really dull in the head if you can’t come up with a better name than that.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve never thought to name it.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you put on top of the recipe?”</p><p> </p><p>“There is no recipe. I change it a little every time so I never bothered to write it down. Now shut up, I’m trying to-“</p><p> </p><p>“What’s in here? Nether stuff, right? How about Nether soup?”</p><p> </p><p>“Tommy.”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s probably already a Nether soup.” Phil patiently added. Technoblade shot him a betrayed frown.</p><p> </p><p>“What about Techno Soup?” Wilbur chimed in, quieting everyone else down. “He made it, it’s only fair it’s named after him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aw, haha. I like that. Techno Soup. Soup-noblade,” Phil grinned. </p><p> </p><p>Everyone at the Table but Technoblade began to murmur agreements and compliments. Techno laid his head in his hands, partly to rest his scowl and partly to hide his blushing. These people really could get away with anything if they made it endearing enough, huh? He took in a sharp breath. Okay. </p><p> </p><p>“You guys know why I organized this dinner?”</p><p> </p><p>“Phil!” Wilbur loudly cheered, quickly quieting himself as he saw he was alone. “Oh. I thought you guys were gonna- mmm, never mind…”</p><p> </p><p>“Me!” </p><p> </p><p>“No, the moment’s gone.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aw.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, for Phil.” Technoblade wasn’t sure whether to chuckle or facepalm. He decided on neither. </p><p> </p><p>“Wait, why’re we celebrating dad?” Tommy asked, lazily breaking apart the last roll.</p><p> </p><p>“The only reason you were invited is that you live here.” Techno deadpanned. Coming from him, it was an accepted answer. “Phil. You, after taking years off work for us, are finally going back! These past few years have been… a lot. Wilbur and I <em> graduated </em>twice<em>, </em>high school and college, that was a big thing. I’ve got an entire career now, thanks to you. Wilbur’s running for a council seat with an excellent chance of winning. Tommy- ah… he isn’t lining up to be <em> as </em> big a criminal as we thought.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey!”</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t scare me worse than Wilbur did.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey- you know what? That’s fair.”</p><p> </p><p>“Listen. Phil, you were an amazing prosecutor, not a terrible defense attorney either, judging by how you’ve helped me. Despite us being, possibly, the biggest handful kids can be without being downright evil-“</p><p> </p><p>“Jury’s still out on Techno!” Wilbur called.</p><p> </p><p>“-and despite what other prosecutors, hell, what other defense attorneys might have people believe, you were a good… are a great…” Techno fumbled as he lost his words. “I’m grateful to you, we all are. That’s one thing I don’t think even we can find something to argue about. You’re an amazing Dadza.”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade flinched at the sudden uproar of cheers from his brothers. He didn’t know what he’d expected, of course, they’d be cheering on their father. He smiled. Of course, they would. He looked over to Phil and his joy immediately dropped. </p><p> </p><p>His hands were clasped together tightly on the table. He held his head down so Techno couldn’t see his face. He was… was he shaking? Phil…</p><p> </p><p>“Phil?” Techno asked cautiously.</p><p> </p><p>Phil raised his head in response to the question. He had a giant smile plastered onto his face. His eyes were bright and tearing up a little as he beamed. Technoblade let out a small sigh of relief. </p><p> </p><p>“Aww, did we make you cry? I’m sorry!” Wilbur stood up and began hurrying to the other side of the table.</p><p> </p><p>“No, Technoblade did. He’s the one who tal- oof!” Tommy was cut off by being dragged/squished into a hug from Wilbur surrounding him and Philza.</p><p> </p><p>“Haha, you guys…” Phil blinked away the tears in his eyes as he properly assisted Wilbur in crushing Tommy’s bones.</p><p> </p><p>“Techno needs to suffer too!” Tommy shouted from inside the hug.</p><p> </p><p>“He doesn’t have to hug if he doesn’t wan-“</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh, fine.” </p><p> </p><p>Techno walked behind the group and limply set his arms around them, patting them slightly. </p><p> </p><p>“Yay! Techno hugs!” Wilbur laughed. </p><p> </p><p>“He’s not even-“ </p><p> </p><p>Tommy was once again cut off via hugging induced air restriction. This time the hug came from Techno, who had suddenly squeezed his entire little family together so he could hoist them up. It was only a few centimeters off the ground for a few seconds but considering he was lifting three people it was incredibly impressive.  </p><p> </p><p>“WOAH!”</p><p> </p><p>“Ow.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “HOW?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade only laughed. He usually hated hugging but that felt good. </p><p> </p><p>“Ah… I love you all so much.” Phil was leaned over, trying to catch his breath, but held a distinct smile in his voice. </p><p> </p><p>“I love you.” Wilbur patted his back.</p><p> </p><p>“I love you guys too.”</p><p> </p><p>“I lo-“ Techno took a deep breath. Wow, that had taken it out of him. He should not do that often. “Me too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Look at all that fluff! while it lasts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Sleepy Bois have a family night.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Late again but still less than a week! Going strong! Ooohh I have a headache. food. idk if this is properly edited even might have to go through it again later when my head works. ow, screens...hhmmhdrs somach hurts i am so tired. Still, hope you enjoy!<br/>------<br/>Actual footage of Wilbur’s reaction to Pideon’s death: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OeQ4AUEyo-M</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Technoblade was strong. He was strong in a lot of ways, mentally sharp, emotionally stable, determined as hell, but also just physically. It wasn’t easy to forget the fact, considering he looked like a supervillain, but somehow Phil always managed. It usually came rushing back in tedious moments; watching him lift something, break something, etc. Right then it came back from both. Technoblade lifting all three of his family members (breaking their bones in the process) was as good a reminder as any. Phil stretched, cracking his back a little.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh… jeez.” </p><p> </p><p>“Heh, sorry. I thought you guys <em> liked </em> hugs.” </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade’s tone held just a hint of mockery. He had the right, Phil supposed. He’d graciously partaken in many hugs even though he rarely enjoyed them. It was always for the other’s sake. Sometimes he’d partake not so graciously but again, who could blame him? His brothers had pretty physical love languages and Tommy hadn’t quite properly learned the meaning of boundaries.</p><p> </p><p>“I think you’ve given me cluster-phobia,” Tommy griped. </p><p> </p><p>“Firstly, it’s <em> claustrophobia. </em> Secondly, now you know how I feel.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really though, we just gonna ignore the fact he lifted <em> all three of us? </em>At the same time! That’s like… 220 kilograms if you lowball it. What the hell, man? I didn’t know you could do that.” </p><p> </p><p>“What? Jealous, Wilbur?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not-“</p><p> </p><p>“We all had workout habits at one point, it’s just that Techno happens to still have them,” Phil broke in. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god, are you calling me<em> lazy?” </em>Wilbur gasped. Phil flicked him in the ear. </p><p> </p><p>“You know, honestly? It’s the stress.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Tommy stared at Technoblade, blank eyes expecting a better explanation. </p><p> </p><p>For a moment Techno only stared him down. Phil thought about cutting in with an answer, he didn’t know for sure, but he could usually speak fairly accurately for Technoblade, and he could always be corrected, but Techno answered on his own.  </p><p> </p><p>“I exercise when I’m stressed. Punch things, push-ups, turn the mental pressure into physical ones and then work it all out. It’s good.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really? That’s the secret? Anxiety?”</p><p> </p><p>“The true secret is to do it consistently. I manage because I am <em> constantly </em> stressed. Always. So… in a way, yeah. Anxiety.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you punch? Do you like, do competitions and stuff?” Tommy gasped “Can I watch?”</p><p> </p><p>“No. If I did, don’t you think you’d know about it?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not like you ever tell me about your life. You’re all mysterious and brooding and shit.”</p><p> </p><p>“I thought you were a detective, Tommy,” Phil teased. </p><p> </p><p>“Hold on, what <em> do </em>you punch then?”</p><p> </p><p>“My punching bag.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Your </em> punching bag? What, do they like give you your own personal space?” Wilbur snorted. </p><p> </p><p>“They?”</p><p> </p><p>“At the gym. Where people go to work out? Which you just said you do a lot? Hello?”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade shifted. </p><p> </p><p>“I work out at home. I… I don’t like the gym. There’s… people,” he mumbled. </p><p> </p><p>Phil resisted the urge to snicker, knowing it would come off like mockery, instead softly smiling and shaking his head. Technoblade was really something. He could see how and why many people found him terrifying but he was also so obviously timid and thoughtful, it was difficult to think of him as really <em>threatening.</em> Phil supposed he had a rather biased point of view on the matter, after all, he had raised the guy. It was probably hard to find <em>anyone </em>truly scary one you’ve had them snuggle into your arms to hide from ‘monsters under the bed.’ </p><p> </p><p>“Maybe you should,” Tommy suggested. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, but- and I know this might be hard for you to comprehend, Tommy, but consider… I don’t want to.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, but it would be so cool! Just like a boxing place?”</p><p> </p><p>“You just want to see Techno beat people up, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy folded his arms, pressing his lips together in a half-frown. </p><p> </p><p>“So? You think he’d lose or something?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not going to though, I’m busy as it is and I’d probably have to cut my hair.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Wilbur sympathized “they’ve got regulations and stuff. Besides, I seriously doubt he’d lose. It would get boring after a while. I’ve never much cared for sports like that…”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s because you always lost,” Technoblade sneered.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, shut up! It was never fair! I didn’t even want to do any of those stupid- ugh. The only reason I ever participated in at all was that Phil made me!” </p><p> </p><p>He pointed an accusatory finger at Phil.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re blaming yourself, Wilbur! You just admitted that you never even tried. Maybe if you had done something besides complain about the uniform or, even better, <em> wore the protection </em> you wouldn’t have constantly gotten your ass beat so soundly.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not true,” Techno cut in bluntly. “I would’ve beaten him anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>“Still, that doesn’t excuse your apparent allergy to safety equipment. I remember I had to confiscate your bike for nearly a year total because you refused to wear a helmet! If you were a soldier I swear you’d march into battle without armor just because.” </p><p> </p><p>“Maybe I just hate armor, okay? It’s uncomfortable! Also, I was <em>eleven.”</em></p><p> </p><p>“Well, you were a very stupid eleven-year-old.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah Will, even <em> I </em> wear a helmet.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tommy, you barely even know how to ride a bike.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know how! I just don’t like to, it’s stressful! I always feel like I’m gonna run someone over or get hit by a car. I like just plain walking, gives me more options to be dexterous.”</p><p> </p><p>“So, in other words, you’re too scared to ride a bike.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hah! Nerd.” </p><p> </p><p>“Shut up. You know what, Technoblade? You’ve got no right to sling that around like an insult. You’re the biggest nerd I know, and I’m in high school! Go on, tell me some more about <em> ‘classic literature.’ </em> Drone about war and history and shit, go on about uh… uhh… fuck I’m blanking. What’s a Greek legend?”</p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t there one where a guy weighs a feather and heart?” Wilbur suggested.</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade smacked him in the back of the head.</p><p> </p><p> “That’s The Feather of Maat, dumbass. You idiot. You <em> moron, t </em> hat’s <em> Egyptian </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>There was silence for a moment. Everyone let the sting sit in before Phil broke the quiet with a stifled chortle. Then Wilbur burst out laughing and Phil lost it as well. He couldn’t see how Technoblade reacted because his eyes were closed as he leaned over, arms around his stomach his own laughter drowning out his focus on anyone else’s. It was so good to experience this again. Tommy and Techno were around, Techno probably more than Tommy despite him not even living here, but Phil missed having Wilbur in the mix. It was nice.  </p><p> </p><p>“Ahah… ah. Well,” Phil clapped his hands together. “Dinner is over but this is my party and I don’t want to call it a night. Do you guys want to play some games? It’s been a while since we’ve had a family night.”</p><p> </p><p>“What kind of games?” Tommy asked suspiciously, glaring at Techno. Wilbur also shared in the accusatory stare. Techno’s face was stony and unreadable as ever but clearly, he knew what they were thinking. Phil shuddered slightly, he also had a pretty good guess.   </p><p> </p><p>“NOT monopoly. God, I don’t want to live through that again.”</p><p> </p><p>“All I did was win,” Technoblade smirked. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur’s glare turned into a scowl, he and Tommy both looked ready to jump their brother. Tommy opened his mouth to begin berating. </p><p> </p><p>“YOU F-“</p><p> </p><p>“OKAY! Okay, drop the matter please, Tommy,” Phil cut off the outburst, opting to ignore the smug look on Technoblade’s face. “We can play whatever! (Other than monopoly.) We’ve got plenty of board games, cards, and time. We can do a few rounds of anything. You guys go pick out something to start while I clean up dinner.”</p><p> </p><p>Phil began to walk to begin the work but Wilbur put a hand on his shoulder, yanking him backward. The look on his face was almost a scowl but a good-natured one. </p><p> </p><p>“Whoah, whoah, whoah, what happened to this being <em> your </em> party?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, Phil, c’mon. We’ll clean up, <em> you </em>go pick out the first game.” Techno aided Wilbur in pushing Phil out of the dining room. </p><p> </p><p>Phil chuckled, letting them shove him into the living room. Tommy idly tried to stroll alongside him but Wilbur caught him by the back of the shirt.</p><p> </p><p>“Where are <em> you </em> going?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh,” Tommy tore away from his grip “when you said ‘we’ you were volunteering me, weren’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, it’s a nice thing to do. We all have to be good sons <em> sometimes, </em>okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Right now? Even me? It’s not even my turn to do dishes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, even you! Get over here and help or I’m gonna use you like a sponge!”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur reached out to grab his shirt again but Tommy narrowly managed to duck away. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “That’s the weirdest threat I’ve ever heard!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“YOU WON’T THINK SO WHEN I DUNK YOUR HEAD IN SOAPY WATER AND SMASH YOUR STUPID FACE INTO DIRTY DISHES.”</p><p> </p><p>“NO, THAT’S STILL PRETTY WEIR- <em> ah!”  </em></p><p> </p><p>Wilbur managed to grab hold of Tommy around his shoulders, effectively preventing any escape as he dragged him into the kitchen. Phil stared for a moment at the scene before only lightly shaking his head. He couldn’t even call them idiots, he’d raised those idiots. </p><p> </p><p>With that ordeal settled he ambled over to the closet they kept all their games in. </p><p> </p><p>The top shelf was scattered with trophies and school projects, beneath that was first aid kit next to a box full of old toys and tiny clothes. He’d been meaning to get rid of these, donate them, or throw the more broken ones out, but every time he tried to sort them he got a little lost.</p><p> </p><p>Phil absentmindedly reached in and plucked a plastic, faded, pigeon from the top of the box. Rather, the <em> head </em> of a plastic pigeon. This had been Wilbur’s first toy. He had plenty he shared with Techno but this was the one he’d gotten specifically for him. He’d loved this thing, named it Pideon, but only had it whole for about a week. He’d happily holding it up to anyone nearby and joyfully explain ‘PIGEON!’ until one day he dropped it. Phil lovingly remembered Wilbur’s tiny distraught ‘NOOOOOOO’ when it had broke. They’d clicked the pieces back together but even with glue Pideon never stayed whole for long. </p><p> </p><p>He was about to rummage through the box in search of the rest of the toy when he remembered he’d open the closet for another reason. Oh right, games. The bottom of the closet held a drawer that was full of boxes and ziplock bags for holding games. Despite this, it was littered with astray game pieces and cards from sets nobody had bothered to put away right. </p><p> </p><p>Phil really should organize this whole closet sometime soon. He needed to clear out a lot of games, projects, toys, and clothes and decide what to donate, keep, or throw away. He also needed to decide where to donate what to. </p><p> </p><p>The orphanage could always use some extra things, Phil smiled remembering Tubbo’s little bee plushie. He should talk to Jordan about what of this junk they could use over there if any. Probably at least some games and toys. </p><p> </p><p>Man, every time he opened this closet he forgot how crowded it had become. He vaguely recalled a time when it was empty save for some tools and papers but that felt so distant. Wrong, even. </p><p> </p><p>The idea of living in that squeaky clean home again, no dents from roughhousing, no crayon or pencil or marker staining the walls, no odd belongings scattered throughout the house, no photos lining the walls, it made him grimace slightly. It would feel like living in a museum or stock photo. So empty and performative and not- well, not really <em> lived </em>in. </p><p> </p><p>He did not care for the idea at all.</p><p> </p><p>Luckily it was impossible to ever end up that way. Even after (if) Tommy moved out it’s not like all of them would just go away, he’d still have the scrapes and marks and photos to remember his sons by.</p><p> </p><p>Gosh, 'remember them by.’ What, were they all dead in this hypothetical future? He’d also have his actual <em> sons </em>around. He was already living that reality, Wilbur and Techno had moved out and they still came around plenty, like right now for example. </p><p> </p><p>Speaking of right now, what <em> should </em>they play? Phil searched around the drawer for a moment, discarding two-player games such as Chess (although he and Techno might play later) and Go. He also eliminated Monopoly from his options, mentally adding it to the donate list. In the end, he settled on grabbing Rummikub and a deck of cards. They could do plenty with those for a while. </p><p> </p><p>Phil walked back into the living room. He guessed the cleaning wasn’t done yet because no one else was there and he could hear voices kitchen. He supposed he <em> could </em> go over and help them but… they <em> had </em> kept insisting this was for him, they probably wouldn’t let him anyway. Oh well. He set the games on the coffee table and sunk into the couch, properly relaxing as requested. </p><p> </p><p>“The things I do for you boys,” he joked to himself. </p><p> </p><p>He sat there for a minute with his eyes closed, not really thinking about anything. It was silent except for the inaudible conversation and clicking of dishes from the kitchen. Quiet. Soft. Pleasant. </p><p> </p><p>Phil opened his eyes, this was taking a while. You’d think having all three of the working would make it go faster but he had no doubt in his mind the opposite was true. They were probably screwing with each other more than they were actually working. Still, it seemed to be going well. They might actually- </p><p> </p><p>“TOMMY, STOP IT!” </p><p> </p><p>Ah, there it was. Phil sat up and straightened his hat, awaiting the confrontation and complaints. He didn’t need to wait long as Tommy came rushing in nearly immediately, moments later followed by Techno and finally Wilbur.  </p><p> </p><p>“DAD, Techno hit me!”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, really?” </p><p> </p><p>“He punched me in the arm!”</p><p> </p><p>“Mmm,” Phil nodded. “And… did you deserve it?”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy opened his mouth but shut it again. </p><p> </p><p>“He did,” Wilbur accused. “He kept pouring water on us.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tommy, don’t pour water on your brothers.”</p><p> </p><p>“W- I’m the one who got <em> assaulted.” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Play stupid games…” Techno sang.</p><p> </p><p>“Tommy, you should apologize.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmph. You’re only saying that because <em> Techno’s </em> the one who hit me,” Tommy grumbled. “You <em> always </em> take his side.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wh- no I don’t!”</p><p> </p><p>“Nah, he’s right,” Wilbur clicked his tongue. “He’s wrong in general but right about that.”</p><p> </p><p>“I-“</p><p> </p><p>“Phil,” Technoblade shrugged, almost apologetically. “You kinda do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well! Okay then, message received.” </p><p> </p><p>Phil closed his mouth and put his hands up. He… he guessed he did? It was wrong to have a favorite child, he knew that, and he didn’t think he did. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t that he liked or disliked any of them better than the others. If they were all falling off a cliff he wouldn’t be able to rationalize who to- ugh, he didn’t like thinking about that. Technoblade was simply the closest to him just like Wilbur and Tommy were closer to each other. It wasn’t a case of favorites, just getting along as friends. </p><p> </p><p>That might impact his judgment a little, Phil would need to be more careful about that. </p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, I-“</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” Wilbur laughed. “We’re big enough to know better than to think you do it on purpose.”</p><p> </p><p>Phil internally let out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding. He hadn’t realized how worried he had been that they thought less of him, or worse, that they thought <em> he </em> thought less of <em> them. </em>Luckily, it appeared they had much the same understanding of it as he did.</p><p> </p><p>“So, what are we playing?”</p><p> </p><p> “Rummikub. No joker rule.”</p><p> </p><p>They all sat around the table setting up the game. It was fun, the first game was short, ending up with a win for Technoblade. They decided to keep playing for second place. Phil and Tommy were neck and neck while Wilbur kept complaining about being stuck with doubles. His board was nearly full despite him basically rearranging all the sets every turn. Phil picked up what he hoped would be a two or red three or joker (just <em> something </em> to help him get rid of this damn red two) but alas, he picked up the other red two.</p><p> </p><p>“Damn.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my gosh,” Technoblade planted his face in his hands, “You and Tommy have both had two tiles for the past five rounds, someone just <em> win </em>already. It’s only second place.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s up to Tommy for that, I got a double and still no way to lay down.”</p><p> </p><p>“OH! WELL, I’m just <em>sooo </em>sorry for you Phil. You have only two tiles left but they’re the same one? Oh no! How<em> tragic,” </em>Wilbur spat, dramatically motioning to his own overflowing board.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. You know what? Move over, I’m helping.” Techno shoved Wilbur over without giving him a chance to protest.  </p><p> </p><p>“Hey! That’s cheating!” Tommy complained. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m already out, I can look at his tiles. What am I gonna do, win? A bit late for that, besides, he <em> really </em> needs my help. This is just- this is the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know!” Wilbur rubbed his face. </p><p> </p><p>“Not the tiles, I mean you’re playing skills. Yeah, some of this is bad luck, but have you considered that you might just suck?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur sharply inhaled, pushing Techno away from his board. Tommy laughed a little too long at the insult.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you dare start agreeing with him, Tommy. You’ve got a sponge full of soda posing as a pathetic excuse for a brain,” Wilbur scowled. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m beating Phil though, what does that make him?”</p><p> </p><p>“Someone dumb enough to manage to raise an idiot with a sponge full of soda posing as a pathetic excuse for a brain.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Technoblade frowned. </p><p> </p><p>Phil’s eye widened a bit at the sudden jab, he hadn’t expected it to be targeted at him. He turned to Tommy.</p><p> </p><p>“You just gonna let him talk about your father like that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I think he’s being tame,” Tommy said smugly.</p><p> </p><p><em> …Too </em>smugly, Philza realized all too late as Tommy slammed his last tile down and flipped his empty board. </p><p> </p><p>“HELL YEAH MOTHERFUCKERS, I WIN!”</p><p> </p><p>“You only got second place,” Techno reminded him but much less firmly than he normally would, letting him enjoy his little victory. </p><p> </p><p>They played two more times after that, one going to Phil and one (finally) going to Wilbur. Despite not actually winning any of the games Tommy seemed satisfied. A little cocky, honestly. </p><p> </p><p>After they got tired of Rummikub they moved onto card games. They played B.S. and Slap for a while until Wilbur suggested they try Poker. They didn’t have any chip pieces so they tried to substitute with paper, but everyone gave up on coloring and cutting pretty quickly. </p><p> </p><p>Eventually, they just settled into talking. The conversations were smooth and amiable, everyone held a warm glow beneath their tones. It shifted and flowed enough that no one was excluded even if only two or three people were talking for a long period of time. They talked for hours, longer than they’d played every game combined. </p><p> </p><p>Music, competitions, work, Phil’s return to work, dinner, chores, Tommy, Tubbo’s trip, Tubbo’s roommate, police, Wilbur’s friends, Quackity, Technoblade’s manner of speaking, how he’s always talked ominously, their childhoods, memories. The talk hopped seamlessly from subject to subject, person to person, until finally, Wilbur stood up.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s getting pretty late, I think I’m gonna head back now. I’ve got a <em> really </em> early shift tomorrow and my boss wants me to come in early.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aww,” Tommy sleepily whined. “You <em> have </em> to go?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” Wilbur lightly punched him in the shoulder. “You can come to see me tomorrow, assuming I’ve smoothed over the little incident from today. Who knows, maybe I can finally get you banned. Tubbo’s coming back tomorrow, right? You can send him in.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy’s face shifted when Wilbur mentioned Tubbo returning. Not in an ‘oh yeah’ kinda way more so… <em> devious. </em> That kid was planning something… oh well. His best friend was coming back the next morning after being gone for days, of <em> course </em> he had plenty of mischiefs to get out of his system with Tubbo. Honestly, Phil would be concerned if he <em> didn’t </em>look like he had something planned. </p><p> </p><p>“Bye, Techno.”</p><p> </p><p>“Goodbye, Wilbur. Goodnight,” </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade lazily reached out to accept a fist bump as Wilbur walked past the couch, not looking up. Phil stood to help him gather his things, which was really only his coat, and walk him to the door. He gave him a short and soft hug (they’d probably had enough bone-crushing hugs for one day) and opened the door. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur hesitated. It was only for a moment but his eyes glazed over and his brow furrowed. His thoughts were clearly busy on something besides the cold as he stared out into the yard.</p><p> </p><p>“Son, what’s wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>“I- uh,” Wilbur shook his head, returning to normal. “It’s nothing, just this stupid weird feeling I’ve been trying to shake <em> all day. </em>I think I might be getting sick or something.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aw, are you alright to go home? You can spend the night if-“</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, no, no, it’s not <em> nearly </em> that bad. Don’t worry about it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, if you’re sure. Call if you need anything. I’ll be much busier than I am normally but going to work doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop being your dad, I will still find the time to help. Just ask.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hah, I will,” Wilbur rolled his eyes, although clearly appreciating the gesture a great deal. </p><p> </p><p>Phil smiled and Wilbur finally made it out the door. As he walked away he raised a hand in goodbye and called out behind him.</p><p> </p><p>“Bye, Dad. I love you. Make sure Tommy doesn’t get himself killed or anything.”</p><p> </p><p>“I promise I won’t,” Phil laughed. “I’ll keep him safe.”</p><p> </p><p>He shut the door and sighed. The feeling of lingering at a party that had ended but was still going began creeping into his chest. Maybe it was time for him to call it a night too. </p><p> </p><p>“Is Will gone?” Tommy called from somewhere further in the house.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Phil answered, walking back in to see Tommy climbing the stairs. He stopped when he saw Phil.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, I’m going to bed then.”</p><p> </p><p>“Already? It’s only eleven. A good bedtime, I guess, but you usually stay up later.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh… Tubbo’s coming back Tomorrow. I wanna wake up and meet him at the station.”</p><p> </p><p>“By yourself?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’M <em> NOT </em> A CHILD!”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, alright, Goodnight then,” he waved in a dismissing manner, allowing Tommy to continue his climb up the stairs. </p><p> </p><p>Phil didn’t believe Tommy would actually go meet Tubbo. Not because he thought he was lying, just because he thought he was wrong. Even going to bed early, well, ‘early’ there was little chance he would manage to get up in time. Even if he <em> did </em> get up, would he really be bothered to walk all the way out to the train station in the early morning cold just to greet Tubbo, who probably wouldn’t care too much if Tommy wasn’t there? It’s not like their friendship was riding on him meeting him then. On the other hand, If anything was going to get him awake and across the city at six am it was Tubbo. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo, curiosity, or mischief, could drive Tommy Innit to the ends of the earth. </p><p> </p><p>Phil let out another long breath. He was kind of exhausted but in a good way. It had been an excellent day and he was just about ready to retire. Just about, but not quite yet. He shuffled through the house clicking off the lights they weren’t using and clearing up things left on the floor until he made it back to the living room. To his surprise, he saw Technoblade setting up a game of chess, having cleaned up the rest of the games. </p><p> </p><p>“Heh, I suppose you want to play a few rounds?”  </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade only gave a firm nod, not taking his attention off setting up. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you tired at all?”</p><p> </p><p>“Wide awake.”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade was quiet and would probably stay that way for a while. He usually needed time to cool down after gatherings like this and would shut down most conversations. That was fine, they didn’t need to talk. </p><p>The understanding that spending time together sometimes meant just physically being in the same place was under-appreciated by many, but not by Philza. </p><p> </p><p>He sat down and they began playing, quietly. It was completely silent for the most part. It was a close game, even tired like this he tried not to give Techno <em> too </em> easy a win. They were pretty evenly matched. Both had a good bounty of the other’s pieces by the time the silence was broken. </p><p> </p><p>“Been thinking,” Techno spoke up, surprising Phil out of his concentration.</p><p> </p><p>“About what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Makin’ friends.”</p><p> </p><p> “Oh?” </p><p> </p><p>That was a surprise. Technoblade was consistently asocial, he didn’t care for making friends, something must have caught his eye.</p><p> </p><p>“Wanna talk to that masked guy again.”</p><p> </p><p>“Him? Why”</p><p> </p><p>“Dunno. Be friends? He’s interesting.”</p><p> </p><p>“What about his little crew?”</p><p> </p><p>“They’re interesting too. Even if they weren’t, I think they’re a package deal. No choice.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, that’s good. Happy you want to meet some people.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not good. Weird.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, okay, you being their ex-lawyer is an… <em> odd </em> start to a friendship but they seem odd too! Maybe if you strategize a little you can think of a way to run into them more naturally? Just go to places they go to instead of contacting them directly.”</p><p> </p><p>“Stalking.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, just common sense! I said <em> don’t </em>be direct. Less of a plan more of an idea, less of a map more of a painting, less of a recipe more of a list. I know you like to have things down to the last detail, backup plans for your backup plans and all that, but maybe try to let it ease up a little here. Give everything some leeway.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good way to fail.”</p><p> </p><p>Phil chuckled. “You’re a fighter, Technoblade. To the bone.”</p><p> </p><p>“Learned it from you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Me? Oh, hardly. I don’t have half the drive you do, Techno. Direction, sure. I could pretend to take credit for that but it’s just not me. <em> You </em> are really something special. I’m not a fighter, more just a survivor. Bare minimum but damn do I do it well."</p><p> </p><p>Techno smiled. It was nice to see. It was also nice to see the way the pieces had lined up on the board.</p><p> </p><p>“If you really want to try to be friends, you can. If something goes wrong it’s on their side of the problem. You don’t give yourself enough credit for your flexibility, Techno. Oh, one more thing,” he clicked his rook into place and grinned. “Checkmate.”</p><p> </p><p>The smile fell off of Techno’s face. </p><p> </p><p>“Hah! Maybe next time you try to distract me with heartfelt conversations… you shouldn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade rolled his eyes, clearing the board to begin setting them up again.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, don’t bother setting up a new game, I think I’m done for the night.”</p><p> </p><p>“You sure you’re not just bailing so I don’t kick your ass in the rematch?”</p><p> </p><p>“No...”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade squinted. </p><p> </p><p>“For real though, I’m going to bed. You can stay for as long as you want, can you lock up?”</p><p> </p><p>He nodded, pulling out his key.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll clean up the game first. Goodnight Phil. Thank you for the talk… it wasn’t just a distraction.“</p><p> </p><p>“Hah, I know. Goodnight, son.”</p><p> </p><p>Phil half-stumbled upstairs. He wasn’t all that tired, just ready for sleep. He still bothered to brush his teeth and debated just sleeping in his clothes before opting to get into proper sleepwear. Again, he wasn’t really tired per se and he could be bothered to get comfy. He plopped his face into his pillow and pulled the covers over himself, happily thinking of rest. </p><p> </p><p>The next morning came before he knew it. Ugh, he was up bright and early. <em> Ugh, </em>he’d need to get used to that. Again. He’d always been an early bird so he’d never been in the habit of staying in bed for mornings but he was still going to miss sleeping in. Alas, whatever. </p><p> </p><p>He kicked his blanket off and strolled to the bathroom for a quick shower. After he was all clean and dressed he popped into Tommy’s room to check on him. He always used to do this every morning for all his sons. </p><p> </p><p>When he’d first gotten Techno he’d convinced himself he’d disappear overnight and then he’d just… kept up the routine. When they were in school he’d come in and wake them up but even when they weren’t he’d check on them just to say good morning and I love you. It was his own little dad ritual, just for him. Even if they were sleeping and never heard him.</p><p> </p><p>Well, as you can imagine, he panicked the fuck out when he went to check on Tommy and found his bed empty. </p><p> </p><p>What. What? What the fuck? Tommy? He went around the house for a good ten minutes, searching. Hello? What the hell? He found nothing and no one. UMMM, excuse him? Where was his kid? Where was his fucking son? </p><p> </p><p>Finally, some brain cells decided to do their job as he got the idea to call him. His early relief quickly dulled as the phone rang… and rang… and rang… voicemail. Damn it. He- he didn’t have his phone. Phil facepalmed. Wilbur had never given it back last night, god damn it. Wait, Wilbur. He probably knew what Tommy was up to, more than Phil did anyway. He dialed up Wilbur’s number.</p><p> </p><p>Instantly he got: “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is inaccessible.”</p><p> </p><p>That was… weird. He tried again, same deal. It didn’t even ring. Huh. Had Wilbur broken his phone or something? Whatever, that didn’t matter right now. </p><p>He needed to figure out where the hell Tommy had run off to. He really didn’t feel like dealing with police again, neither to find Tommy nor to get him out of their custody. If Wilbur couldn’t help, what did he do? Should he call <em> Tubbo? </em> Tubbo wasn’t even in the city! He’d gone on that-</p><p> </p><p>“Oooh,” Phil said aloud. “Right.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy had gone to see Tubbo at the station. Phil guessed he really had managed to wake up and drag himself out the door. Huh. Good for him. </p><p> </p><p>Phil continued about his normal day, ignoring his flushed face. He was super glad Wilbur hadn’t picked up the phone, it was humiliating to have made a big fuss about something, and it ends up being nothing. Like when you lose something and run yourself ragged trying to find it only to have some else pick it up from an obvious spot. Ugh, that was one of the worst feelings in Phil’s opinion. </p><p> </p><p>He made his way into the living room to see if anything had been left out from last night. It seemed perfectly clean, Techno clearly had done a bit more than tidy up the chess game. Phil walked around to appreciate Technoblade’s work when something caught his eye. There was something wooly and reddish stuck between the arm and the seat of the couch. He pulled it out, it was Wilbur’s beanie. </p><p> </p><p>Oh, he must’ve forgotten it here. Phil tilted his head back and forth, thinking of his options. You know what? He could just go give it back right now. Wilbur had said he was feeling kind of down, this could also be a way to check in on him. He was at work right now but that didn’t mean much. If Tommy could spend hours just hanging out surly Philza could stop in for a few minutes to return his hat. He could get Tommy’s phone back too, finally.</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, good plan. Phil grabbed a pear for breakfast and excitedly walked out the door, happy to see his son.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>2</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Just Before It All Goes Wrong</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Minecraft brothers' last night together... even if they are apart.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AAAAAAAAAAAAA I AM SO SORRY I WAS GONE SO LONG! \(ᵟຶᴖ ᵟຶ\) I have had a REALLY bad fucking week. Among other things, I almost ended up in hospitals. Plural. It was... bad. Forgive me for being so late.<br/>-------<br/>Tommy’s conscience tries to make him feel bad and he’s just “wtf is that? whatever.” </p><p>Fun fact: I've always imagined Sally to be short and chubby, have a pixie cut of dark red hair (shade of Minecraft salmon scales), grey-green eyes (shade of Minecraft salmon head). She wears a lot of jeans and blouses and has tattoos of water and sea creatures up her right arm and one of a salmon on her left shoulder.<br/>————</p><p>// unreality mention</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p>[Sally 🐙] </p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Hellooo?</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Hey love hru?</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> How’s your apartment doing?</p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> Great! Finished the final touches a few days ago actually </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> It’s so great to be back</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> You left at like the worst time too</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> “Hey! Wanna be my boyfriend?”</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> then a few months later “Okay bye I’m moving for two years”</p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> It was only sixteen months </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> Besides, we worked it out didn’t we?</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b> And now we know we can handle long distances!</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b>  Yeah lol</p><p><b>WilburSoor:</b> Honestly living so close to each other is gonna take some adjusting </p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> I’m looking forward to it </p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Me too :)</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>I still can’t believe you had to do all that just for an accounting job</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> You’ve taught me accounting is a lot less boring than I thought </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Or maybe a lot more, idk </p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> Hopefully I won’t be needing it much longer</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>My job’s fine but I’m still working towards doing school full-time</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Hell yeah! Get that degree! You’re gonna be the best damn marine biologist ever</p><p> </p><p>S<b>allySalmon: </b>Hey- for real- thank you for all your support &lt;3</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> You deserve it! There’s certainly no one more passionate</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>We met at a river where you were looking at the plants </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>And then all we talked about for week was aquatic life </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>You’ve even got so many sea-themed things</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Including several outfits (all of which you’re very cute in btw)</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Don’t you volunteer at the aquarium on top of everything? </p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> Yeah</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>You really like fish. </p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> …</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>yes lol</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Speaking of the aquarium, guess who got a free family pass?</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Wouldn’t be a bad place for a date now, would it?</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>We’re in need of a proper irl date</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Haven’t had one since I got back :(</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>I can’t believe you don’t even love me</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>/s</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> What! Yeah we have!</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> What about when I helped you move?</p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Really? That’s what you think counts as a date?</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Well, we did go get ice cream later</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Then the day after we went to the petting zoo! </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>That was a date, wasn’t it?</p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>oh yeah </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>oops </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> I had to drag you away from the rabbits</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>And the sheep</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>And the ducklings</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>And the everything </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>You just love little animals, huh? Lol</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> ...maybe</p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>At the aquarium, there’s a show where you can pet the fat sea lions  </p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> I CAN PET THE FAT FUCKS??</p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Well, if you get picked as an audience helper at the shows </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>They let you pat them before returning to your seat </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> And I DO have a bit of sway with the trainers so</p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> If we end up going you can count on being picked ;) </p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Are you trying to bribe me to go on a date with my own girlfriend </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Whom I already love dearly and would kill to spend time with?</p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>…maybe </p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Lmao</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> YES, I’d love to go to the aquarium with you</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Kind of a waste you have a whole family pass though</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Maybe you should save that for a group of people and I can just pay</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> I don’t mind spending a little, aquariums are pretty underfunded </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Actually, maybe I can do something to fix that</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> I’ll think about adding it to my campaign</p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> How’s that going by the way? </p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Great! </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> I’m bracing myself for things to get really busy but it’s pretty chill rn</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Our son is actually helping me run</p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>OH MY GOSH you two are never going to let that joke go, are you?</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Idk, it’s just become a part of our group. It’s lore.  </p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> He slipped up once </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Called me mom ONE time </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> One time nearly a year ago by now lmao</p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> *sigh* maybe I’m just a bad mother</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>There’s the spirit! </p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> Back to the aquarium, I was thinking</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Maybe you can invite your family?</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>We’ve been dating for a while </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>And we’ve known each other for almost two and a half years  now</p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> Don’t you think it’s time I officially met your family? </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> Especially since I’m now all settled and moved in properly?</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh</p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>What?</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Is our love forbidden or something?</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>No, nothing like that.</p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Awww, too bad </p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Sorry to burst your bubble</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>It’s just my family… mmmm </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> They can be a lot. Especially my dad. And my Twin. And my little brother. </p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Well I basically know Tommy already </p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> BUT </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> I’m sure they’d all love you. That sounds like a great idea.</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>It’s only</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>I just got home from a family get-together </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> And all of the eccentricities are still fresh in my mind.</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> I love them to death but they’re……… embarrassing.</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> I’m just a little nervous about what you’ll think of them. </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Or of me when I’m around them.</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>And also of what my dad will tell you.</p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>OH I am so excited </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> I wanna hear all the embarrassing childhood stories </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> I wonder if he has pictures </p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> NO</p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> &gt;:D</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Sigh</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>I am resigned to my fate. </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>How about Tuesday? The day after tomorrow? I think everyone’s free then.</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>OH, also</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Is it alright if Tommy brings a friend? </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Tubbo just got back from a trip so I doubt he’ll go anywhere without him</p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>I remember Tubbo </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Brown-haired kid always next to Tommy? </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Yeah he can come</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Want to call?</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Nah, I really should be getting to bed</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>I’ve got a crazy early shift tomorrow </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Like 5 am</p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Rough :(</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Yeah. I lost my work keys too! </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>I think I left them at my dad’s place </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Luckily my bosses wanted to meet with me so they should already be there</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>It’s gonna be awkward to show up for a review needing new ones</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Ugh</p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Oh no! How’d you get inside your apartment? </p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> I keep my work keys on a separate ring. </p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> Some policy about not mixing personal belongings and work equipment </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>I guess it’s sort of an “all your eggs in one basket” prevention thing</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Which, fair enough</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>I guess it worked, though not in the way they wanted</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Ugh and I’ve got this awful trepidation that’s been creeping up on me all day. </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Hopefully sleep will fix it :/ </p><p> </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Aww, I’m sorry. Hope you feel better.</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Goodnight, love</p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> Good luck with work</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>See you Tuesday! I’m so excited 😋</p><p> </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Night, Sally </p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>Can’t wait</p><p><b>WilburSoot:</b> 🐡🦈🐠</p><p><b>WilburSoot: </b>I love you too </p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p> </p>
<ul>
<li>••</li>
</ul><p> </p><p>Technoblade couldn’t sleep. It was too windy. It was too loud. No, it was too <em> quiet. </em> No, it wasn’t even that. He just plain wasn’t sleepy. Tired, sure, but not sleepy. He laid in his bed, breathing deeply because he had nothing else to do. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, he had plenty he <em> could </em>do, he just knew if he got off this bed or even stood up he would stay awake all night switching from pointless task to pointless task. He’d end up shuffling around his house, tired but only in the back of his mind, entirely incapable of sleeping. He didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want to deal with what was essentially an insomnia hangover the next morning either.</p><p> </p><p>So, he laid completely still. He was flat on his back under his covers, trying to keep his muscles relaxed, trying very hard to keep his eyes closed, and trying very, very, hard <em> not </em> to think about falling asleep. If he kept thinking about how he couldn’t sleep he’d never be able to, this was of course, <em> really hard </em> to do. If you think ‘don’t think about a thing’ you’re only going to be able to think about that thing. Brains could be so useless. No, brain, he <em> didn’t </em> need to think about what he couldn’t do. This wasn’t going to help. He needed to <em> not </em>think. </p><p> </p><p>Ugh. </p><p> </p><p>He took a deep, long, breath, letting the air fill up his entire chest. It was going to be one of those nights, huh? Eventually, he’d wake up not having remembered when he fell asleep. Eventually, it would be tomorrow and he’d open his eyes feeling like he hadn’t gotten any rest at all, which was better than staying up all night and feeling like he’d gotten negative amounts of sleep. That was the worst, when it felt like an energy vampire had come and sucked all his brain juice out. Blah.</p><p> </p><p>Techno wondered what tomorrow would be like. He thought about when things felt <em> real. </em>Right now he was stuck in one of those moments that was, well, only a moment. Nothing had happened, no time had passed, but he’d been there forever and he would be after. It was completely liminal. He’d been stuck here before and had no doubt he would find himself here again. Because of this, he didn’t really care to focus on experiencing it and instead tried to remember what reality felt like, to imagine what it would be like to exist again. </p><p> </p><p>Would he see Phil? Probably. He wondered what he was doing right now. Probably sleeping Tommy’s friend was coming back, there was a chance he’d have to deal with their trouble. He thought about Wilbur’s friend, Quackity. They’d talked about him during dinner. He’d met him of course. He hung around his brother’s so often it would be impossible to think otherwise. He’d met him before, though.</p><p> </p><p>Hadn’t he… hadn’t he been at university? He didn’t <em> seem </em> like a lawyer but then again no real person really did. He was at law school, yeah. That wasn’t it though, not <em> just </em>that anyway. Hadn’t he been there when Techno... snapped? Wasn’t he somewhere in the background as Techno beat his fists against the bastard’s face. Again and again even as he struggled- ugh, no. Techno didn’t want to think about that. That was not something to think about in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep.</p><p> </p><p>No, no, think about something else. His mind ran through all his thoughts again, searching for a new path to branch out into. Sleep, weird sleepless feeling, tomorrow, Phil, Tommy, Wilbur, Quackity, school- school… uh… work. Work! He could think about work. Let’s see, he didn’t have any clients. Maybe he would look for one… maybe he’d take a bit of a break… maybe… huh… </p><p> </p><p>He pulled his blanket up closer, snuggling properly into his bed. His muscles relaxed and his jaw unclenched as finally, <em> finally, </em>his trail of thoughts melted into pure nothingness. He was tired. He was comfortable. He vaguely wondered what tomorrow would hold one last time before drifting completely off to sleep. </p><p> </p>
<ul>
<li>•• </li>
</ul><p> </p><p>Tommy was so annoyed. He was laying flat on his back, which was uncomfortable, he usually slept on his side. His neck ached from the angle it laid against his pillow. A muffled ringing was raging inside his head, bashing against the inside of his skull. </p><p> </p><p>Uuugghhhh what time was it? </p><p> </p><p>He smacked his nightstand, searching for his phone to turn off that stupid fucking alarm sound. Why wasn’t it music? Had he changed it? Why? He hated the default sounds. They were so annoying. Ugh. Where- where was his fucking phone? Why couldn’t he turn off this stupid sound? Where was it even coming from? He was beginning to get frustrated. No, he <em> was </em> frustrated. Incredibly. He was so tired! What the fuck! That sound... </p><p> </p><p>The irritation forced him awake or at least prevented him from falling back asleep. As his agitation slowly left him more and more conscious he became aware that the sound wasn’t coming from his desk, it was from his pillow. That’s why it was <em> inside </em> his head. Oh. He reached under his pillow and grabbed something square and thick. Not a phone. What? He pulled the block out. A digital alarm clock. He groggily mashed the off button. Even with the thing off he had the sound stuck in his head like a bad song. Why couldn’t he just have set it to music again? </p><p> </p><p>Oh yeah, he’d used a <em> regular </em> alarm clock. The one Wilbur gave him after he’d broken his phone so he could get up on time for school. Ugh, that was a terrible week. The stupid thing only had one annoying beeping ringing sound and it always made him grump- Wait, why? Why had he used this dumb thing? He couldn’t just... he couldn’t just use his phone because he didn’t have it. Where...? Wilbur. Wilbur has his phone. Wilbur’s work. He’d nabbed Wilbur’s keys last night. The keys to the shop. The pin. The case. The plan. The <em> mystery.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Tommy’s eyes shot open. He threw his blanket off and rolled onto the ground, well, more like fell to the ground. With a thud. Ow. He hoped Phil hadn’t heard that but at least it woke <em> him </em> up. He needed to get ready. He scrambled to his feet, getting a little lightheaded in the process. Oooh, he was still tired. What time was it? The alarm clock read 2:14 am but it was stuck about an hour and a half early. (He’d learned that the hard way.) Alright, 2:40 was still a good time to wake up, although he’d wanted to be up at 2:25. Had he really been stuck listening to that sound for 15 whole minutes? </p><p> </p><p>He doubted he’d managed to hit the snooze button, it had taken him five minutes just to realize where and what it was. He’d put it under his pillow so it would be muffled because he worried it would wake Phil... had the muffling just let it work its way into his dreams? He was going to be hearing that sound for the rest of his life. Mmfff, whatever. Time to get to business.</p><p> </p><p>He made his way around the house as quietly and secretively as possible, grabbing his clothes and feeling his way downstairs to change in lieu of turning on lights. He grabbed a torch  from the linen closet so he wouldn’t be in complete darkness. Although the moon was full enough, he wasn’t gonna open any blinds. When he opened the front door he was hit with just how luminescent the night was. The world seemed to glow and the glowing stuck out against the dark without illuminating or blending. It was almost breathtaking. Magical. It made him a little giddy about going out.</p><p> </p><p>The other thing he was hit with was the fact it was cold and windy as hell outside. He had to go back inside twice to get on more layers. First to get a hat, scarf, gloves, etc, and a second time to put another long sleeve shirt on under his coat. </p><p> </p><p>The chill bit at his face as he made his way down the street. It made him glad he’d gotten a scarf to cover his nose. He stuck his hands in his pockets, squinting against the harsh wind. The streetlights became brighter and more frequent as he got further into the city. Cars began to drive by more regularly and you could tell the world was still very much awake. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy pulled his hood over his head. He wasn’t technically doing anything wrong, just walking down the street, but he felt a little... guilty? Self-conscious? Whatever, he just didn’t want people to pay attention to him. Or notice him. Or be aware of his existence at all. Nobody had any reason to but, still, there was an underlying anxiety. It happens sometimes. It <em> always </em> happened with things like this, comes with the excitement. The adventure. His heart was beating hard against his chest as he progressed past building after building. </p><p> </p><p>He grinned, mind wandering to what he might discover. Secretly he knew there was nothing going on. He wasn’t actually gonna uncover any magical conspiracies or evil plots, in fact, he probably wasn’t going to end up with a case at all, but he didn’t really care. That wasn’t the point. The point was he didn’t know. At least, he didn’t know <em> yet. </em> Enthusiasm bloomed throughout him as he turned onto the street the alley was in. He slowed his pace down to the point he was almost loitering, turning his head as if he didn’t know where he wanted to go yet. Despite nobody else being around, he tried to appear as inconspicuous as possible when he ducked into the alley. </p><p> </p><p>The shop was empty and silent. Nothing but the loud whistle of the wind made a sound as he stood before it. There was less light here, there were either no street lamps or none that were on in the alley, but the moon and stars were still bright enough in the sky he wasn’t blind. His hands tingled. He pulled the keys out of his pocket, fingers fumbling a little in the cold despite his gloves. He fought with the lock for a few minutes, struggling to find the right key before finally creaking the door open. </p><p> </p><p>He held his breath as he slowly took a step inside. The torch  he brought illuminating a small patch of every coroner he shone it in. It was like a horror game... a really really un-scary horror game. Turns out without the spooky music and ambiance those things might as well be called “hard to see simulators.” </p><p> </p><p>He could see his pin shine inside the glass of the display case when the light fell over it. Perfect. Gotcha. </p><p> </p><p>He carefully shut the door behind him. At first, he crept extremely slowly and carefully, practically tiptoeing to the display case (where he once again struggled with the keys). The continuing irritation at the lock ate away most paranoia. By the time he managed to get it open and swipe his pin he was comfortable and confident as ever. He stood up and proudly fumbled with his pin for a moment. He couldn’t get it on in the dark, even when he balanced the torch  so he could have both hands, so he held it. He didn’t want it to fall out of his pockets or anything, he was too scared of losing it to risk that. All anxiety about being caught left him in the supposed safety of being behind walls in an entirely empty place. Now that he had his pin back it was time to... time for...</p><p> </p><p>Tommy yawned, feeling a wave of exhaustion crash over him. Oh yeah, it was like 3 in the morning. Maybe he should just... go home and go back to sleep. He’d stayed up practically all night yesterday and, even though he wanted to explore here, he’d probably only find some boring paperwork. His head spun a little. Ugh, he was regretting not actually taking a nap after his shower earlier today- err, yesterday, whatever, he wished he’d slept before the party. He stood in the middle of the front room, drowsily debating with himself on if he should leave. </p><p> </p><p>No, he finally decided. This was too good an opportunity to pass up, an adventure was worth a bit of a stomach ache. Besides, when would he get a chance to do anything like this again? It was amazing just being here. He was completely anonymous completely by himself with complete freedom. This wasn’t something you half-ass and move on from, this was something you take advantage of, even if it’s for nothing. Was it even <em> really </em> for nothing? Yeah, Tommy kept telling himself he wouldn’t find anything but that small chance of the unknown kept screaming ‘what if?’ Something in his gut pulled and pushed him towards getting an answer. Even if it ended up being ‘no’ he was going to find it for himself. </p><p> </p><p>He smacked his face a few times and turned towards the back. At the very end of the hall, there was an exit. It was a back door Wilbur said nobody ever used anymore, they’d probably only ever need it in case of a fire. On one side of the hall, there were lined the three soundproof rooms, obviously. He didn’t pay them any mind, they were just big empty rooms with clear windows and good acoustics. He could see inside them entirely and even if he couldn’t he’d already been inside them plenty. Why bother Instead, he turned his eyes to the other side of the hall. There was a simple single door marked ‘employees only.’ Wilbur said that was a workshop space where they fixed instruments people brought in for repairs. Tommy had never been there before, he’d never even tried. He was so used to seeing it that door may have just been paired into the wall but tonight it may as well have shone like a video game destination marker. </p><p> </p><p>The handle was cold to the touch. Tommy felt it through the fabric of his gloves as he gripped it. It turned and opened on the first try which surprised him a little bit. The pattern of tonight had honestly made him expect it would be locked and that he’d have to hassle with the keys more. The door was heavy and creaked open slowly. He had to push harder than he thought to get it opened, at least needing both hands. He temporarily set his torch  and pin in his coat pocket, leaving him in darkness for a moment as he stepped into the room.</p><p> </p><p>The door swung shut behind him quickly, making him jump at the sudden <em> click-thud. </em> He may or may not have actually screamed a little. Pfft, definitely <em> not. </em>He was braver than that. When he finally got his torch  out again (and held his pin safely in his other hand) he nearly screamed again. His little circle of light illuminated rows and rows of shiny metal pieces all cut up and lining the walls, covering tables, even scattered on the floor. </p><p> </p><p><em> Musical instruments, </em> something inside him hissed. They were just parts of musical instruments. Of course, this was the workshop of a music store. Of course. Why was his heart beating so hard? Of course. </p><p> </p><p>It had looked... it had looked scary. Like <em> eyes </em> or animatronic parts or tools serial killers would use to chop him up. It was just creepy when he had limited vision. His mind made shit up. It was just a Bloody Mary game, making something scary out of lack of information. Wasn’t a bad thing, he guessed. Better to assume a threat when there’s none than to be unguarded if there is one. It was nothing. There was nothing. Why. Was. His. Heart. Beating. So. Damn. Hard? Loud? It was almost painful. </p><p> </p><p>“Ugh!” He spat and shook his head, failing to force the feeling out. Fine. Fine! Whatever. If he couldn’t get rid of the paranoia then he’d indulge it, that’s what he was here for anyway. It was snooping- he means, investigating time. </p><p> </p><p>The room itself was fairly small, partly carpeted partly something hard like concrete. There were big cabinets along one wall, all locked. Tommy found they all used the same key (the third and final one) which he guessed made sense. If the point of the lock is to just keep anyone but employees out then there’s no need for an individual one on each drawer. Inside the contents appeared to be mostly broken instruments currently undergoing repairs. Hmm. Next to the cabinet was what looked like a dresser. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy unlocked the doors and found even more drawers, these ones smaller and without locks. Opening a few made it clear these were all papers of some kind. The left seemed to be full of physical copies of client information. Tommy played around for a while, matching instruments in the cabinets to names before he got bored. The right side was even more boring, physical copies of financial shit. Ugh. Math. </p><p> </p><p>Still, Tommy poured over them with fascination, looking for the answer to a puzzle that didn’t exist. It was mostly nothing, just statement after statement of boring shit. Taxes, numbers, blah blah blah. Something mildly interesting he noticed though, during dips in business someone would always pitch in and donate. Bills, equipment, wages, always paid for by some charitable asshole. This wasn’t unusual per se, it wasn’t impossible to believe several jackasses wanted this place to stay afloat enough they’d dump a load of cash, but what struck Tommy was that once or twice it was under <em> Quackity.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Tommy adamantly didn’t know that much about Quackity. He knew plenty, yeah, but nothing super personal. He <em>guessed</em> it was possible he was rich but if Quackity had money Tommy felt like he would know. He felt like <em>everyone</em> would know. Unless was it an act? Did he act humble (in lifestyle, not in personality) to hide the fact he had money? It was possible, but it didn’t sit right. Maybe he had some wealthy relative that gave him money to keep his business upright. That would explain why he seemed to only have the money for <em>this.</em> Maybe... maybe he wasn’t rich. Maybe he just sacrificed for a while because this meant so much to him and no one else would foot the bill. Was that right? It never seemed like Quackity’s dream job. Tommy remembered him saying something once or twice about law school but he never talked about his current job unless he was ragging on Wilbur. Maybe it was just something he didn’t talk about? Hmm. He’d have to find a way to bring that up to Big Q without letting on how he knew. </p><p> </p><p>With the rifling all out of the way, Tommy moved on to the other side. There were tools lined up on peg boards and a few strewn about on the counter. Peaking inside the drawers revealed boxes and boxes of orderly parts. Strings, coils, buttons, mouth pieces, case handles and latches, tiles, rods of some kind, bridges, different kinds of strings, and a bunch of other shit Tommy couldn’t hope to ever do anything useful with. Going through all this stuff gave him a newfound appreciation for Wilbur. It was incredible anyone could take this junk and turn it into beautiful music. God knows how the people who invented instruments were able to ever do it in the first place. Fucking poggers, bro. </p><p> </p><p>After that, there were only the things already out in the open left, and he went through them pretty quickly. Tommy pouted. He’d seemingly gone over all the mysteries of this place but he wasn’t satisfied. There were still questions hanging in the air, he didn’t have a solid 100% no-doubt answer yet, he needed to be more thorough. Even though anyone else might find it silly, Tommy dropped to his knees. He was going to feed his curious hunger until it was full, even if he had to go over literally every inch of this place to do so. He was, after all, an amazing detective. </p><p> </p><p>He started with the side he was on and swiftly but meticulously made his way up and down every wall. When he was done he did it again in the other direction, running a finger along the inside of his light so as not to miss a single detail. With the walls properly done he set his sights on the floor, moving slowly inward in a spiral pattern. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Table leg. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Table leg. No- wait, what is that? </p><p> </p><p>He stopped, on his knees. There... beneath the table... there was a minuscule shadow out of place. It was so tiny, probably insignificant, just some beak in the floor or something. Tommy though- being Tommy- was filled to the brim with newfound excitement. </p><p> </p><p>He reached over to the spot, feeling his hand around the floor. If Techno were here he’d make fun of him for essentially wiping his hand across a dirty floor… and that would be fair. (But he wasn’t here so he could suck it.) There was something... off. Yeah, it could just be a crack in the floor but it was strange, too clean, too deep. There was something odd going on. As Tommy carefully felt his way around he found the crack went out for a while, about a three fourths of a meter, before it suddenly snapped in another direction. The turn was too clean to be natural. It was a corner, Tommy realized. There was a square hidden in the floor! </p><p> </p><p>This was so cool. He felt his way around until it led him to under the carpet. There, he could feel something circular and metal. He found the whole carpet itself was loose and would shift entirely with a proper shove. The change exposed a small, silver latch. Oh... oh this was amazing. Even if it was only storage (which was probably true) it was something he was proud of for realizing on his own. He held his breath as he grabbed the latch and heaved, pulling open the trap door to reveal...</p><p> </p><p>Tommy’s eyes widened.</p><p> </p><p>Concrete. It was just concrete. There probably was a room here at some point, probably storage of some kind like he’d expected, but it was long by now. They’d filled it up for one reason or another. Tommy sighed. Oh well, he was still super proud of himself for realizing it existed at all. Besides- he yawned- now he didn’t have an excuse to not go home, he could go back to bed guilt-free. He stretched for a moment before groggily shuffling the carpet back into place. Whoo, he was feeling all that tiredness crash around inside him. He was so tired he didn’t know if he’d even be able to sleep when he got home. </p><p> </p><p>Oh, who cares, mission: successful. Tommy stood up, looking around the room one last time and taking a deep breath before pulling open the door and stepping into the back hall. He pulled out his pin to hold it securely, tracing this thumb around its rim as he began making his way to the front. Before he left the hall he shone his light on a clock. 4:00 am. Perfect, Phil wouldn’t even be awake for another two-three hours or so. A sly grin broke out across his face. He did it. He’d done it. It had been perfect.  Now all he had to do was walk back. He couldn’t wait to just get home, sleep for a million years, eat, it would be fun to talk to Wilbur. It was so enjoyable when he had a secret like this. No harm, no foul, so no one could ever really know but it was. Well, he’d tell Tubbo, of course. Oh yeah! Tubbo would be back by the time he woke up! This was the best. Tommy was a geniu-   </p><p> </p><p><em> Tommy was stupid. </em> He knew that on some level, subconsciously. Every once in a while something he did would surface the fact and slap him in the face. Sometimes he said the wrong thing to the wrong person and got punched, sometimes he jumped too soon and got scratched, whatever it was he couldn’t even complain because it was so obviously his fault.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy knew he was stupid and never had he known it more than when he heard the back door open behind him. </p><p> </p><p>He’d barely taken a step towards the front but it was so obvious what his intentions were. It was so clear he was there to pry, where he had been and why. So obvious that he wasn’t supposed to be there and that he knew it. There was no explanation he could have given, he couldn’t write this off as looking for his pin. At least, probably not. He didn’t know. He never got the chance to even try. Everything slowed down, slower than it had ever been. Bullet time didn’t even begin to describe it properly.</p><p> </p><p>He heard an inaudible but panicked voice behind him… familiar? Was it saying his name? He didn’t know. For half of a split second, he had the vaguest idea of getting arrested but it was gone in an instant, revealed to be a foolish hope rather than something to dread. His foot hadn’t even reached the floor before he felt something… <em> something </em>hit the back of his neck. He didn’t even have time to register anything about it (Solid? Liquid? Cold?) before everything shut off.</p><p> </p><p>He thought dying would be faster, or at least more foreign. He was still conscious but he couldn’t understand the fact. </p><p> </p><p>He felt his knees hit the ground, he felt himself fall forward, he felt his pin slip from his grasp as his arms went limp, but he couldn’t register any of it. </p><p> </p><p>His last thought (if you could call it that) felt like a distant memory even as it occurred right then. It was a cruel deja vu sensation. An emotion he couldn’t name.</p><p> </p><p>Then he stopped trying to name it.</p><p> </p><p>Then he stopped trying to think.</p><p> </p><p>Then he stopped.</p><p> </p><p>It was over. Time resumed as normal, proving that it really had been but a few seconds. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy’s pin rolled away from where his hand laid and fell flat somewhere in the front room. The green center seemed to glow saturated, innocently waiting to be picked up like every other time it was dropped. Instead, it was stepped on as a figure searched around, looking to see if there were any more people in the shop. Looking to make sure there were no witnesses as another figured half-dragged half-carried its unconscious owner back through the workshop door. They quietly muttered to him, although they knew he couldn’t hear. </p><p> </p><p>“Damn it, Tommy, I warned you…”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>1...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. And The Count Strikes Zero</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wilbur is given two appalling choices, he hopes to end up with neither.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was so exhausting to write. My entire schedule changed so I don't have as much free time but I think the structure will help. Things are getting better for me, I am just exhausted. I hope this wasn't too late, I did give some warning it might not be on time but I'd hate to have two late chapters in a row.</p><p>I'm taking a bit of a break after this chapter. It's a lot so I hope it will tide you guys over for a few extra days! Now the pieces can be set up. The real angst is yet to come... I've already written some later chapters and I like to think they hit pretty hard. </p><p>As we go forward into the REAL fun, remember this is a story with the dsmp crew, not the dsmp story. Don't let the canon of the characters influence your suspicions of this story too far...<br/>---<br/>As always, enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wilbur opened his eyes. Ugh. <em> Ugh. Uuuuugghhhhhhhh... </em> he had to go to <em>work </em>and talk to his <em>bosses </em>like an <em>adult. </em> He grimaced, reaching over to turn off his alarm. He laid there and for a moment- just a moment- considered going back to sleep. Maybe he should have. Maybe it would have solved everything if he’d just been an hour or so late. Maybe… but probably not. Too much was going wrong for a solution that simple. Besides, it doesn’t matter now if it would have truly changed anything or not. He didn’t. He threw off his covers and sat up, knowing if he laid down any longer he’d slip back into sleep, and then he’d never be up.</p><p> </p><p>He stretched, rubbing his face. He needed to get moving or he’d fall asleep sitting here. Why was his bed calling to him so badly this morning? Yeah, it was early but he hadn’t been up <em>that </em>late and he’d been able to get going just fine on much less rest. It wasn’t even just that he was tired, it was that something inside him was crying to curl up safe and snug in his bed. It was- it was almost familiar. He stared at the pile of stuff on his floor (that he still needed to put away properly from yesterday) waiting for the rest of his brain to turn on, waiting for his mind to load a proper thought. It was… he shook his head. It was that fucking <em> feeling </em>again. Damn it. He thought it would go away after some sleep. It had been fine last night when he’d talked to Sally- oh. </p><p> </p><p>He smiled, mind jumping ship. He and Sally had a date tomorrow. He needed to see if his family was on board. Phil was gonna be busy and Techno rarely wanted to go anywhere but Wilbur was certain they’d jump at the chance to meet his girlfriend. He shuddered, unable to decide whether he should dread or look forward to the event. He needed to- <em> fuck! </em> He needed to give Tommy back his phone! He quickly checked to make sure it was still in his coat pocket, okay, maybe he should go invite Phil in person and return it then? </p><p> </p><p>He let his mind swarm around the possibilities as he got ready. He didn’t really have much to do apart from getting dressed and grabbing some breakfast, this (combined with the fact he woke up with basically ten minutes to get out the door) meant he was on his way in no time. It was bitter and cold outside, essentially still dark, but it was winter. Still, something deep inside Wilbur couldn’t help but feel a little fear at the foreboding weather. He might have driven a little (a lot) slower than needed on his way to the shop, and not just because of the potentially slick roads. </p><p> </p><p>By the time he finally got to work he’d managed to swallow back most of the feeling. He’d have to tell Schlatt about it, that he might be getting sick, but there was nothing he could do until he actually <em>was </em>sick. He took deep breaths in of the frozen air, taking confident strides down the alleyway. He was compensating for the icky cowardly way he’d been feeling but fake-it-till-you-make-it could apply quite literally to emotion so it was intentional. It worked for a moment. By the time he got to the shop, he found himself feeling rather upbeat. Even when he remembered he’d lost his keys his mood only dipped for a second. He simply knocked on the door and waited.</p><p> </p><p>It only took a moment for Schlatt to open the door. As Wilbur stepped in with a friendly smile Schlatt returned the gesture, motioning for him to follow. They walked to the backroom. Schlatt was in his usual get-up, despite the early hour. Wilbur didn’t know what his obsession with suits was but he never was one to judge, good or bad. At least you couldn’t deny the man looked sharp. </p><p> </p><p>“Man, I don’t know how you can bother to do that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Dress so fancy all the time, I could barely be bothered to change out of my pajamas this morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, yeah I guess. Y’know, I dress formal, not ‘fancy.’ Besides, I’ve been up for hours, it was no big deal getting dressed. I’m a b-“</p><p> </p><p>“Businessman, yeah,” Wilbur laughed.</p><p> </p><p>Schlatt opened the workshop door, politely gesturing for Wilbur to make his way in. He was holding something in his left hand, something circular he was flipping between his fingers. They both stepped into the room. Wilbur breathed a breath of what felt like fresh air, he loved this room. It always made him feel good, <em> musical </em>one might say. Working on instruments wasn’t something he was particularly <em>skilled </em>at but it was something he enjoyed. He remembered the first year he worked here before Schlatt and Quackity took over, he could never open the cabinets because he was always losing his- </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, shoot! I forgot to tell you, the reason I was waiting for you at the front, I lost my key ring yesterday. I’m so sorry, I think I left them at my dad’s and-“</p><p> </p><p>Schlatt grabbed something off the table, dangling Wilbur’s work keys in front of his face. </p><p> </p><p>“Wh- how?”</p><p> </p><p>“Quackity found them. We guessed you must have left them when he hurried you out yesterday.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh… ha, thanks.”</p><p> </p><p>“Another thing, the indoor cameras short-circuited during the windstorm last night. We don’t have any footage from after eleven p.m.”  </p><p> </p><p>“How-“</p><p> </p><p>“Hell if I know, a branch hit a fuse box or something. The outdoor ones work fine. Anyway, I wanted to talk to-“</p><p> </p><p>“I know, I know, I let Tommy hang around too much.”</p><p> </p><p>“Actually, no.” </p><p> </p><p>Schlatt flipped the little thing he was fidgeting with again. What was that? It was green and round but he was holding it too close and he was moving it around too much to really see anything about it. Finally, Wilbur’s curiosity caught up with him and he bothered to ask, quickly, before Schlatt could get into the disciplinary bull.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mmm?” </p><p> </p><p>Schlatt turned, fully showing his hand and what he was fidgeting with.  Wilbur’s heart jumped. That was… that was Tommy's pin. Something inside him twisted. He exhaled with some difficulty. That- wait, wasn’t it fine? Tommy had left his pin here yesterday, he must have. It was nothing, it was no big deal it was-</p><p> </p><p>“WILBUR!” Schlatt snapped Wilbur back to reality. “I’ve been calling your name for like three whole minutes man, you just shut me out for no reason, what the hell?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry! I-“ Wilbur cleared his throat. “I- that’s… that’s my brother’s pin.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh,” Schlatt held it up, face unreadable. “I was wondering what this was. Found it this morning, assumed some customer had dropped it and would want it back. I know we don’t usually bother finding items owners but I’m a bit biased towards pins. I know the importance they can hold.” </p><p> </p><p>He tapped on his own pin, a shiny golden apple. A pin that he always wore, Wilbur realized with a little too much surprise. It’s not that he’d never noticed it before he had just never given it much thought. </p><p> </p><p>“But you say it’s your brother’s? Tommy, I assume?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh,” he tisked “Guess my search is over faster than I’d thought.”  </p><p> </p><p>He was wrong. Why was he wrong? Why was that false? </p><p> </p><p>“Hah, yeah… I guess so,” Wilbur mumbled. </p><p> </p><p>What the fuck was going on? Why did he feel like Schlatt was hiding something, planning a surprise? Why was that such a bad thing? He pushed away his thoughts and reached out for the pin but Schlatt pulled it away. </p><p> </p><p>“What-“</p><p> </p><p>“So,<em> Wilbur,” </em> Schlatt crooned, shooting ice up Wilbur’s spine for no discernible reason. “I hear you’re running for council?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur swallowed back his anxiety, that was a perfectly normal question. It wasn’t weird or threatening or anything like that! He just wanted to know- how... his <em> did </em> he know? Wilbur hadn’t told anyone but Phil. Did it spread around that fast? No, it couldn’t have. Tommy was still asleep at home and he didn’t even have his phone. Phil and Techno should also still be asleep right now, well, Phil at least, Technoblade got up fairly early if he could help it. It was quite possible he’d been up for hours by now. Still, even then, Techno wasn’t the type to talk unnecessarily, certainly not to Wilbur’s boss of all people. How- why- actually, why was he getting so hung up on this? It wasn’t a bad thing. Not to mention he could just ask. Yeah... Schlatt was his friend. He could just <em>ask.  </em></p><p> </p><p>“I- uh, yeah,” he stammered, making no attempt to hide the surprise in his voice. “How did you know?”</p><p> </p><p>For just a moment Schlatt’s expression seemed to flicker something sour, but only for a moment. In the blink of an eye, he was back to his usual (unusual) self with a wide business grin plastered over his face. Wilbur fought the urge to shake his head or rub his eyes; it was early, he was tired, his mind was playing tricks on him. Though, even taking <em>that </em>into account it seemed to take Schlatt a moment too long to respond. </p><p> </p><p>“...Eret,” he said finally. “I’ve been speaking to him about his plans to run and-“</p><p> </p><p>“That was you?”</p><p> </p><p>“What?“</p><p> </p><p>“Eret spoke about a friend who said they should run.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, that’s me. He called me yesterday to say thanks for the support but one of his friends, someone named <em> Wilbur, </em>was going to run instead. I thought ‘huh, I know someone named Wilbur’ but then realized- well, you know. Small world, huh?” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah... crazy...” Wilbur muttered, getting a little too high strung over this conversation.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, I really <em> admire </em> your policies,” he sighed, smiling almost wistfully “and- frankly- it’s not going to work.”</p><p> </p><p>“I- wait, what?”</p><p> </p><p>Schlatt chuckled softly, flipping the pin in his hand and slowly making his way around Wilbur, circling like a predator.</p><p> </p><p>“You heard me. It’s going to fail. What makes you think you’re going to change anything? Plenty of people have tried before. Plenty of much more experienced, skilled, and just plain more competent, people have tried before as yet,” he clicked his tongue, brow furrowing in mock confusion “nothing ever seems to really change. Ever wonder why?” </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are- are you <em>mad </em>at me because I’m running? Is that what this is about, you don’t trust me? You’re just pissy because you hate politicians?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no, on the contrary. I <em> love </em>politicians. I’ve simply got a specific taste in them and, unfortunately, you just <em>barely </em>fall out of the criteria. Never fear though, I’m here to help you get right back on track. On <em> my </em> track, anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>“What? I- shut the hell up! You’re such a dick sometimes, jeez. No. My answer is no. I don’t need nor do I <em> want </em>your help or advice or whatever in running. You can’t just snake your way into getting what you want here, even if I did want your ‘help’ it doesn’t work that way. </p><p> </p><p>“Actually, I think you’ll find it very much does. Besides, it’s not an offer, Wilbur. It’s not even a question. You don’t have a choice.” </p><p> </p><p>“Wh- <em> Excuse me? </em> Are you seriously fucking trying to blackmail me? What are you gonna do? Fire me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not exactly-“</p><p> </p><p>“Not <em> EXACTLY? </em> You son of a bitch, are you <em>kidding </em> me? Surely you don’t actually have the gall to try some bullshit like that. I know your bluffing anyway, you <em> need </em> me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Eh, I suppose. I guess, in a way, that’s more true than you know, Wilbur.”</p><p> </p><p>“WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN? I don’t- ugh, I don’t even want to talk to you right now. Where’s Q? If you’re gonna pull some BS like this I at least have a right to talk to him first. He’s as much my boss as you are.”</p><p> </p><p>“We both know that’s not true.”  </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur was reaching the end of his rope. What the fuck was this guy’s problem? Yeah, Schlatt could be a dick every now and then and everyone knew he was a bit of a snake but THIS? Really? It made Wilbur’s blood boil. This was ridiculous. This was stupid. He didn’t need this. He didn’t... he didn’t <em>need </em> to deal with this. Realization dawned inside him. He rubbed his face, glancing around the shop. Did he really even like this job that much? </p><p> </p><p>Well, yeah, he did. It was great, usually. He even considered his bosses his friends, he still did. Where else could he say that? Was it really worth walking away from over one annoying fight? He- maybe he didn’t mean to. </p><p> </p><p>He looked (more like glared) at Schlatt’s face. It was bored and unconcerned like he could care less about the outcome of this. It was a poker face. He was bluffing on something, hiding something. Wilbur knew he wouldn’t really fire him. At the end of the day, Wilbur was the only thing keeping this store up and running. He was an irreplaceable employee, there’s no way they’d drop him over this. Schlatt was bluffing, he wouldn’t let him walk out the door, Wilbur was sure of it. He was certain and he was done playing Schlatt’s game. He could get out of this and keep his job just fine, even if he didn’t, so what? His choice was <em>his</em> choice. </p><p> </p><p>“Fine then, fire me. I quit.” </p><p> </p><p>With no small amount of personal satisfaction, Wilbur turned on his heel and began making his way towards the door. </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t want to do that Wilbur.” </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur let a small smile slip across his face but only because nobody could see. <em> There it was. </em>Schlatt’s tone was dark and threatening but he didn’t buy it. He slowed his pace but didn’t stop. Schlatt could apologize or shut the fuck up, he wasn’t putting up with being dragged out here at 5 am for this bullshit. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, really?” He called over his shoulder “Why-“</p><p> </p><p><em> Why not? Are you gonna </em>fire <em>me? </em> Is what he was <em>going </em>to say but he was cut off by a small click. Something in his head finally snapped and he was overwhelmed with the dread he was in active and serious danger. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like he was just arguing with a bad friend. Suddenly, he began to shake a little. </p><p> </p><p>“Because I have a feeling,” Schlatt, suddenly a stranger, snidely declared, “that you’d rather not die today. Turn around, Wilbur.” </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur opens his mouth but found every thought and word had dried into nothing but a pained and panicked expression. He slowly stepped until he was facing his former friend, his current assailant. Yeah, okay, he was being held at gunpoint. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, you know what! Hand me your phone while you're at it. You know, just in case."</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur numbly reached into his pocket and handed over his cell. If he could process what was happening at the time he'd probably be ashamed of how limp his movements were. Schlatt took it and held it up like he was examining gold. For a second Wilbur's heart lept. Was he going to break it? (Why did he care about that? It's just a stupid phone and he was about to-) Schlatt set his hand down, tossing the phone onto the already-messy table with a clatter. </p><p> </p><p>"Wh- you didn't break it?"</p><p> </p><p>"Ha? No? Why would I waste a perfectly good phone like that? I'm not gonna make extra inconveniences if I don't have to. No, I just shut it off. Even if you get to it you'd have to wait for it to turn on again before you could call for help and that would give <em>me </em>plenty of time to shoot."</p><p> </p><p><em>What?</em> Wilbur couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t process what had just happened, what had just been said to him, how casually, and by whom. Schlatt was... Schlatt was his friend? He was a prick, yeah, but he was- he was- they’d been out to drink together. They’d gotten each other birthday presents (usually bad presents but still). How long... how long had they known each other? How many times had they laughed together? Drank together? Eaten together? They were never best friends but still, they had been <em>friends! </em> Schlatt was his <em>friend </em>who was threatening to kill him. Kill him over- </p><p> </p><p>“Why? You- you’re really going to kill me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Meh, I’d rather not. You’re <em> rather </em> convenient alive.” </p><p> </p><p>For some reason, Wilbur found no comfort in the fact of Schlatt’s supposed preference. </p><p> </p><p>“But why? This is- this is stupid, Schlatt! Snap out of it! Just... put the gun down and we can talk. Come on... it’s okay, it’s me. It’s Wilbur. I’m your friend, yeah? You can trust me. We can talk. You don’t have to do this, whatever it is. Do you have any idea what you’re risking? All this over a little bit of second-hand power from a position I haven’t even won yet and might never?” </p><p> </p><p>Schlatt fumbled for a moment. He started to roll his eyes but stopped, instead chuckling and shaking his head. Wilbur got the impression he was holding back full-out hilarity, like the kind he’d gotten used to hearing every now and then. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh my- you really are a fucking idiot, you know that?” He laughed. </p><p> </p><p>There was something awful in it. Not because it was cruel or wild, because it wasn’t. It was familiar. It was almost <em>friendly. </em>It was just… Schlatt. Good old Schlatt calling him an idiot, poking fun, being a bit of a dick, but it was all okay because he was just Schlatt. A friend! A scoundrel. He always meant well at the end of the day… but there was no end to this day, just the dead-end of a loaded gun. Schlatt hadn’t suddenly dropped some persona or started being possessed, it was just Schlatt. Just Schlatt about to kill him.</p><p> </p><p>“I-“ Wilbur wanted to scream. He wanted to- to do <em>everything. </em> Anything! But his lungs felt empty of any air.</p><p> </p><p>“Let me clarify, Wilbur. If (well, <em> when) </em> you run with <em> me </em>behind you, you’ve already won.”</p><p> </p><p>“You- what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Put the pieces together yourself if you want the full picture, I don’t <em> need </em>you to know.”</p><p> </p><p>“You- you’ve... rigged the election?”</p><p> </p><p>“Wow. Genius.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up! Just… shut up, I…”</p><p> </p><p>“Take your time.”</p><p> </p><p>“I SAID SHUT UP! You- I- I- I- this- <em> Quackity, </em>where’s Quackity. Did you…” Wilbur took a shaky breath, sorrow threatening to break through his disorientation. He swallowed. “Did you kill him?”</p><p> </p><p>Schlatt scoffed, darkly chuckling a little. There was something very funny about that question to him. His humor did nothing to assure Wilbur, in fact, it made him panic. This whole thing was some kind of sick joke… the laughter only made his eyes go wide. </p><p> </p><p>“Haha, oh, oh don’t <em>worry, </em> Wilbur! <em> Of course, </em> I didn’t. Quackity’s a…” he snapped his free hand, searching for a word, “a <em> goon. </em>He’s not smart enough to get involved to that point.” </p><p> </p><p>“You- you're an <em>idiot,” </em>Wilbur stammered. “You’re going to fucking jail.”</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon now, you growing up around such big-shot lawyers I’m sure you know very well how that works. It takes <em>time, </em> Wilbur. Time enough for a for something... <em> tragic </em> to happen.” </p><p> </p><p>“I know enough about the law to know that you’re a fucking idiot for coming to me like this,” Wilbur spat. “All it would take is a text and the police would sort you out in a <em> second.” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Oh?” Schlatt only tilted his head and grinned. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur, desperately trying to keep himself together, kept rambling. He didn’t know if it was more to reassure himself or an attempt to hide from Schlatt the fact he was even the slightest bit intimidated or scared. </p><p> </p><p>“Y-yeah. Yeah! I know exactly who you are, soon so would everyone else. You’ve fucking doomed yourself. Even if you kill me here and now, there’s no way you don’t get pinned. I’ve seen enough cases to know this would be open and shut. No defense attorney would even touch it, it will be the prosecutor’s field day.”</p><p> </p><p>He was bluffing. He was bluffing his ass off. He didn’t know shit about what made a good or bad case, but he couldn’t even think about that. He needed to keep talking, keep fighting, or he was going to break down. Fuck, he was so scared. Be angry. Being anything was better than being scared. Being scared was going to get him killed. Be angry. Yeah, yeah, fuck this guy, how <em>dare </em>he.</p><p> </p><p>“Your little evil plan is going to fucking fai-“</p><p> </p><p>Schlatt waved his hand in a ‘stop talking’ motion, rolling his eyes a little. Wilbur shut up, mouth locking shut involuntarily tight.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Wilbur. Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur… you really would make a good politician... even if I wasn’t here to help you. Pretty face, empty head. You really can’t think long term, can you? You’re staring at the airplane when you should be studying the engines, the fuel, what keeps it in the air in the first place.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur took a split second to express plain and simple confusion in place of terror. </p><p> </p><p>“I mean,” Schlatt sighed “you keep going on about <em> me </em> this and what <em> I </em> can and can’t do that. I think your whole perspective on this situation is still leaving you with a skewed, <em> minuscule </em> vision of your situation.”</p><p> </p><p>“I- oh…” horror re-dawned on Wilbur’s face as he understood where this was going.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t get me wrong, I am flattered, <em> flattered, </em>that you believe I could corrupt an entire cities worth of politicians, police, and lawyers on my own but…”</p><p> </p><p>“No. No, I mean <em> surely </em>it’s not that b-“</p><p> </p><p>“Not that bad? Oh, no, of course not. This isn’t some dystopian novel where some big evil faceless group controls every possible position of power, there’s still good people, well <em> ‘good’ </em> people, genuinely trying their best. We need them to give people the impression things <em> can </em> change, we just don’t let them get too far. You ever wonder why over the past ten years nobody’s managed to fulfill their promise to, ah what’s a good example, let’s say set up a program to dismantle brewer gangs? Well- partly it’s because politicians suck- but mostly it’s because they just never really had a chance. We don’t let them but we always let people <em> think </em>they can, that way they end up blaming the politician. Keeps the eyes off the system itself, you know?”</p><p> </p><p>“Who’s we?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p> </p><p>“Who’s <em> we?” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Oh, if you’re trying to get me to spill all my ‘evil secrets’ via villainous monologue, I’m afraid you’re out of luck. I’m here to convince you to keep playing the same role you always have, the friendly face sitting at the front of the shop, only this time you’ll be at a podium. That means you’ll be getting info on strictly a need-to-know basis. <em> That </em> means no names. Besides, again, this isn’t some YA novel. There’s no big boss behind all the corruption you can take down to make everything clean again all nice and neat. Organized crime is much less organized than you’d think.</p><p> </p><p>All you need to know is: everybody works for somebody, and not in an organogram kind of way. If you were to chart everything out it would probably look more like a spiderweb than a pyramid. It’s not tower blocks where if you push out the right one we all fall, more like grains of sand in a box. You can take out a handful, but everything will just shift to keep the shape.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur gritted his teeth trying to fight back against the wave of hopelessness threatening to wash over him.</p><p>No. <em> NO. </em>Why. Why was this happening? Things had been so good, he’d been so hopeful, so excited for the future. Now he was questioning if that future had ever existed in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>Phil and Techno and Tommy they- was he going to sentence them to existence as pawns in some fucked up game of rigged chess? Would he become one himself? Were those his only options?</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck? Are you <em> crying?” </em></p><p> </p><p>God, his face was burning. He could barely hear anything but his own heartbeat, he felt like his head was going to explode from holding in his tears and Schlatt was <em>laughing at him. </em> Wilbur couldn’t believe he’d ever liked that laugh. He couldn’t believe he’d ever casually joked around with this man, this <em>monster.  </em></p><p> </p><p>No. </p><p> </p><p>No, no, no, no. He would not let this bastard humiliate him on top of everything else. This was a horrible situation. He was allowed to feel horrible. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. He took a deep breath and forced his body to relax. This moment couldn’t last forever, he just needed to get through it. He could get through this. </p><p> </p><p>“You won’t... you won’t get away with this.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh wow, you’re resorting to cliche movie lines, huh? Have I still not made my point clear? Who are you going to go to, hmm? The police? The press? The politicians themselves?  Daddy’s lawyer friends? <em> Judges?</em> I guarantee you there is someone in <em> every single </em> possible place you could look for help that would... rather things stay the way they are, let’s say.” </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur cringed. Of course. Of course, there was. God, he felt like such a tool. Nothing had changed. Nothing ever changed. Had he really thought HE was the missing piece? That he was the first genius to really try? He was so arrogant and stupid and now... now everything was screwed.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, and one other thing. In the event, you DO somehow get me in, know that I have a lot of names of a lot of bad, bad, folks. Folks everyone would love to see in jail for <em>life</em>. The thing is, there’s a damn lot of corrupt lawyers out there... wouldn’t be too hard to slip two extra names there.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> No.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You couldn’t. No one would believe you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my <em> god </em> , would you shut UP? You keep saying shit like that and it makes me wanna do it anyway just to prove a point. I promise you it really would not be that hard. Look at Phil, he’s a prosecutor, first of all, <em> no one </em> likes those. Second, that was quite a long break he took... sure he did it for ‘family’ but, to the public, it would probably look real suspicious with the right light shone on it. And Technoblade? Ha! I wouldn’t even have to lie. A violent, scary, corrupt defense lawyer, misusing evidence to get an innocent verdict for guilty villains. The articles would practically write themselves!” </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t-“</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur was cut off by a motion of the gun. </p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur, this has dragged on for far too long, it’s becoming overly complicated. To simplify: if you don’t do exactly as I say when I say it this gun’s gonna throw a bullet and <em> someone...” </em>he paused, pointedly staring at the green pin in his hand before pocketing it, “is gonna catch it ‘tween their eyes.” </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur couldn’t- No. No that’s…</p><p> </p><p>“What…” he couldn’t finish the sentence. </p><p> </p><p>Schlatt, in a turn of events that churned Wilbur’s stomach, seemed to get the message and was eager to clarify. He motioned for Wilbur to step backward until he was up against the back wall. Then he pulled out something from his pocket, some kind of device. It looked like a phone. Schlatt handed it out to Wilbur and with some difficulty (and a gun) convinced him to take it. There was nothing on it but a single app. It was just a dark grey gradient, no symbol or logo or anything. It almost looked like it wasn't loaded properly or something. Wilbur tentatively tapped it. At first, there was nothing but what looked like a grey loading screen. Wilbur didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know what it was. He wished he didn’t have to look at it anymore, the not-knowing was making him sick. Then someone or something on the other end picked up…</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur would have stayed staring at that stupid grey screen, a gun at his head, not knowing and in danger forever, if it meant he could change what he saw. </p><p> </p><p>There was… Tommy… his hands were behind his back, his mouth was gagged, he was squinting and trying to hide from a harsh light. Wilbur couldn’t breathe as he stared at the video in front of him. Was this live? Tommy drowsily shifted his head back and forth, clearly distressed and more than a little out of it. The video was shaking, someone was holding whatever was recording or broadcasting and they were… oh, WHO CARES? WHERE WAS HE? HOW WAS HE? WHAT WAS WRONG WITH HIM? WHAT DID-</p><p> </p><p><em> “What did you do to him?” </em> Wilbur managed to hiss with a fair amount of venom. “Where is this? How did you take him? When? Is that a recording or is-“</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, yes, I guess it’s fair you’ve got so many questions. To answer them: I’m not answering them.”</p><p> </p><p>He held out his hand. Wilbur hesitated but gave in, glaring as he laid the device in Schlatt’s filthy grip. Schlatt slipped it into the pocket of his stupid suit. God, Wilbur hated that pretentious get-up. Schlatt insolently smiled, looking over the fuming, helpless, form of his former friend.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I guess one answer would do me some good, help you make the right choices. It <em>is </em>live. That’s him <em>right now. </em> If I wanted I could-“</p><p> </p><p>“What did you <em> do </em> to him?”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, fine, one more. What did I do? Nothing. Haven’t hurt a hair on his head. Not intentionally. <em> Yet. </em>Want to know what happened to him? Honestly, I don’t know either. He was only hit with a weakness potion but he must have already been exhausted because he just… collapsed. Seems fine though, only a little weary. He woke up fine a while ago and we’ve been keeping him under a steady weak effect, just for security, you know?”</p><p> </p><p>“Tommy…” Wilbur whispered. </p><p> </p><p>Everything was losing… the world was dripping away like… what… <em> what was happening? </em> Why? How? How- how could- it was his fault. This was all his fault. This was his mess. His problem. His trouble. Everyone, all the danger, it was just cowardly attempts to control <em>him. </em> Would it… work? Could he? Should he? Could he really go about working as this faceless non-organizations puppet? Could he really let them hurt- or worse- all the people they’d threatened, all the people he cared about, in some kind of attempted bravado? Some misplaced sense of justice? <em> Was it misplaced?  </em></p><p> </p><p>He… no, he couldn’t make any kind of judgment like that. He’d always been liberal with his philosophies but he certainly wasn’t any more qualified with hands-on experience. </p><p> </p><p>No. NO! He shouldn’t <em>need</em> to protect anyone else, nobody else should be in danger. Why were so many people, so many entirely faceless, some… some who’s sluggish, scared, lost, face would be burned into Wilbur’s mind for the rest of his life, why were they in danger? This was all to get <em> him </em>to fall in line, no one else should have to suffer for it. It was his problem. <em> His </em>trouble. His- he-</p><p> </p><p>Something drove itself through Wilbur’s head. A sharp, swift, punch, almost painful, like an arrow. A memory clear as the cleanest crystal suddenly drowned him. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I- I- I’m sorry,” he sobbed, crying in the back of a car. How old was he? Tommy was a toddler (god, Tommy hadn’t even outgrown his dummy yet) so he couldn’t have been older than eleven. Ten? Maybe even nine? It didn’t matter. He was old enough to know better. He was old enough to be at fault. Phil didn’t say a word as he drove, causing Wilbur to burst into tears all over again. The silence... it was almost worse than if he’d just yelled or screamed at him.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Please! I’m sorry!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Well, what do you want me to do?” Phil’s voice was calm and steady but anger seeped from beneath it. </p><p> </p><p>“I-“ Wilbur sniffled. “I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know, but it’s- it’s done. It happened.” </p><p> </p><p>They sat in silence for a moment. Well, not really silence, not with Wilbur’s stifled sobs, but neither talked. Wilbur wished he could pout and scoff and blame someone else like he usually did when he was in trouble. He wanted to be mad at Phil for being upset with him, he wanted to kick and cry that it wasn’t his fault, but he couldn’t. Because it was. It was all his fault. </p><p> </p><p>He’d taken Tommy out with him. He did that a lot, set him in the little wagon they had, and pulled him around. He wasn’t supposed to leave their street. He technically wasn’t supposed to take Tommy out of their yard. He rarely did. He was usually so careful when pulling Tommy- no, that was a lie. He was careless. It wasn’t that he was trying to get out of chores, he liked watching Tommy. He liked showing him all the things around the neighborhood and showing him off to his friends and having him hold stuff and help. </p><p> </p><p>It was just this once Wilbur had maybe gone out a little further than he was allowed, had allowed himself to be a bit too distracted, looked away for a little too long. He had been busy doing something stupid, digging up a neat rock or something. He’d been an idiot. </p><p> </p><p>Looking back, it wasn’t that big a deal. A nasty scrape, yeah. Preventable, stupid, but it could have been a lot worse. Wilbur just remembers hearing screaming, turning around, and finding Tommy on the ground grabbing at his face with blood seeping out from under his hands. </p><p> </p><p>He immediately pieced together what had happened, Tommy had gotten bored and managed to climb out before tripping and getting grated on the rocky ground. It was a simple accident, an easy-to-understand situation, but god it had been terrifying. He didn’t even bother to check the wound, part of it was panic but part of him was just too scared. He scooped up his little brother and ran home, forgetting his rock and the wagon. </p><p> </p><p>When he burst through the door, at that point just as bloody and panicked as Tommy, Technoblade looked like he was going to have a heart attack. After listening to Wilbur’s inaudible ramblings he grabbed his hand and nearly had to drag him into Phil’s office. Wilbur didn’t remember exactly what happened next. He’d just sat in a corner and hyperventilated until Techno dragged him into the kitchen and began to pour water on him. He didn’t know why Techno did that, he didn’t bother to ask at the time. Maybe it was to clean him off, maybe it was in an attempt to calm him down the way they did in movies, whatever the reason it made him chuckle as a memory. </p><p> </p><p>Then Phil came downstairs. He was quiet. His eyes were trained on Wilbur, full of accusations. He didn’t say if Tommy was okay. He didn’t ask Wilbur if he was alright, he didn’t ask what went wrong, he didn’t ask anything. He only towered over Wilbur, arms crossed, straight-lipped, and eyes that had already decided on an answer. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur guessed there were some downsides to being adopted by a prosecutor, Phil knew how to get a confession. Wilbur’s story had trickled out bit by bit, Phil only stood there as he dug himself deeper and deeper until there was only one question Phil needed to ask to have Wilbur completely incriminate himself.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Where is the wagon?”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>At first, for a split moment, Wilbur was confused. He was angry. Why was that important? Who freaking cared about the wagon? His answer fell out in spite before he could realize what it meant. </p><p> </p><p><em> “And why,” </em> Phil leaned in, voice steady and dark <em> “is it all the way out there?”  </em></p><p> </p><p>The next thing Wilbur knew he was dragged into the car, bursting into tears all over again from fear of being in trouble. Sitting and sniveling and just wanting everything to be okay again, he assumed they were just going to get the wagon but after a while and several more apologies he realized they’d been driving far too long for that. </p><p> </p><p>“Whe-“ Wilbur hiccuped. “Where are we going?” </p><p> </p><p>“The store.” </p><p> </p><p>“WH- why?”</p><p> </p><p>“As a punishment. You are going to buy Tommy some presents. With your own money. All of it. </p><p> </p><p>“What about Tommy at home?” </p><p> </p><p>“He’s fine, I patched him up. Techno can watch him for a little while. <em> Techno </em> knows better than to take him <em> a million blocks down.” </em></p><p> </p><p>“...But he’s okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“He- yes, Wilbur, he’s fine, but that’s not the point! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? It’s bad enough to know you’re wandering so far away without even telling anyone but to think you’d be so <em>stupid </em>as to bring Tommy along- I- you- he’s a BABY, Wilbur! You’re so fucking lucky he only fell. How far would you have taken him otherwise? How far would he have wandered off on his own? There are cars, there are kidnappers, he could have <em>died, </em> Wilbur! <em> You </em> could have killed-“ </p><p> </p><p>Phil stopped suddenly. Wilbur could feel him staring through the rearview mirror. He somehow managed to sink further into himself, shifting his coat in a subtle/unsubtle attempt to cover his tear-streaked face. </p><p> </p><p><em> “No, that’s not-“ </em>Phil let out a long sigh that turned into something of a groan. </p><p> </p><p>The car swerved as they pulled over into a parking lot. Wilbur looked up, they were parked in front of a boutique for some reason. They sat in silence, the car still running, for a few moments. Phil rested his head on the steering wheel while Wilbur stared sullenly out the window. </p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur,” Phil finally spoke. “Wilbur, c’mon, look at me.” He reached over and tapped Wilbur’s leg. “Hey, buddy. Look at my face.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his head.</p><p> </p><p>“I- yeah, okay, that’s fair. Just- listen, I haven’t been fair today. I’ve been treating you like you’re on trial, like you’re a criminal. Wilbur, truth be told I think I’ve been projecting. I am as much- no, I’m almost entirely- no, I <em> am </em>to blame. I’m your father, I made the decision when I took you all in. You three kids are <em>my </em>responsibility. I was just so shaken to find out what you’d done, where you’d been, how much danger you were in while I was completely unaware. I was cooped up in my office mulling around with my work while my child took his little brother and fucked off to who knows where. That’s not... that’s not okay!” </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur shifted in his seat to peak at Phil. He was still facing him, hand still on his leg, but had stopped looking at him. Instead, he was looking down at nothing. There was an expression on his face Wilbur had never seen before, it was melancholy and humbled and regretful and... full of fear. All emotions Wilbur at the time barely knew his father was capable of.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“So you’ve said,” Phil half-laughed. </p><p> </p><p>“No, I’m sorry to <em> you. </em> For... for scaring you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” he seemed softly surprised. “It’s alright, son.”</p><p> </p><p>“Please keep Tommy! I’ll take good care of him from now on, I promise! We won’t be trouble! Please, don’t let him go anywh-“ </p><p> </p><p>“WHAT?” Phil burst out laughing. “You think I’m going to send Tommy away because you ‘couldn’t take care of him’ like he’s a <em> pet? </em> Oh, Will, Will, Will, don’t worry, son.”</p><p> </p><p>“But... am I still going to be allowed to see him? Can I still play with him? The people aren’t going to take him away?”</p><p> </p><p>“The people?”</p><p> </p><p>“The ones that take kids when they get hurt. Kids were talking about it in school. I said there’s no way people let that happen but my teacher said it was true. They said it happens to adopted kids all the time…”</p><p> </p><p>“That- no, no, no, don’t worry. That is something entirely different. Nobody’s gonna take anyone away over some scrapes. You don’t <em>ever</em> need to worry about <em> that." </em></p><p> </p><p>“So… I’m <em> not </em>grounded?”</p><p> </p><p>“How about this, for now, let’s go get a present for him. For a while you’re... not allowed to take him outside by yourself, BUT,<em> of course </em> you can play with him. Just, well, you’re welcome to involve Tommy in your shenanigans. It’s actually so, so, great that you two are so involved in each other, not many brothers are like that and I really hope you stay that way, it’s something special. However, if (and <em> when) </em> you rope him into your tumult, just promise me you’ll take responsibility for him. Take care of him, okay? Promise?” </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I promise”  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>He’d promised. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur looked up at Schlatt, a desperate scowl seeding itself in his face.</p><p> </p><p>He’d promised... and he’d <em> kept </em> his promise. Not perfectly, maybe not as much as he should have, but when it counted he was always there to get Tommy out of trouble. Out of <em> his </em> trouble. He’d never let Tommy suffer- <em> seriously </em> suffer- for his mistakes, for his problems, for his business. He had always kept his promise and he’d be damned if he was going to break it now. He set his hands down, still shaking, still afraid, but controlled. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Where is he?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t need to know that,” Schlatt smiled. </p><p> </p><p>“I think,” Wilbur stepped towards Schlatt, towering over him <em> “I do.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Schlatt took half a step back but caught himself, remembering he was the one holding a gun. Even so, his entire demeanor changed in response to Wilbur’s newfound steadiness. He was suddenly faking his smile, holding up a charade for appearance’s sake. He was shaken. </p><p> </p><p>“Something wrong?” Wilbur asked, emulating the insincere concern. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, actually. You. I’ve seen plenty, Wilbur, plenty enough to know when someone’s dangerous.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m the one with a gun to my head, <em> I’m </em>the one with a hostage to worry over, maybe you just cower too easy.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re scared. That’s not always a good thing for me. I’m trusting you not to be an idiot here… so is Tommy, for that matter. I mean, no pressure or anything, but if you end dead we’ve got no need for the child. If you get yourself killed trying to play action hero his status drops from hostage to witness, and there’s a pretty simple solution for that.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur put his head down. He backed off, slowly unclenching his fists, relaxing his muscles, lowering his guard, giving up. He couldn’t… he wasn’t Technoblade. He wasn’t strong or cunning. He had no choice but to submit, didn’t he? Schlatt’s confidence sunk back to more than just surface-level. He straightened himself, a new grin glowing as he stepped closer. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur hated him. Wilbur hated him but he was going to have to do his dirty work. He subconsciously rubbed his wrist, feeling invisible strings weave their way around his joints, stinging like razor wire cutting his skin. </p><p> </p><p>Schlatt was talking again. Wilbur couldn’t hear a word he was saying, he kept his head low, squeezing his eye shut. He wanted so desperately to cover his face, to throw himself on the ground in a ball and just <em> hide, </em> but something inside him refused to give Schlatt the pleasure of a spectacle. The best he could do was hide it from a direct line of sight. He wasn’t saving anyone by lying down like a dog, he knew that. He was going to hurt so many people. He wasn’t even helping Tommy, not really. He was only postponing, possibly even worsening, terrible things. He took a break from silently apologizing to Tommy to send one to Phil. He was sorry for breaking his promise. He was sorry Tommy was once again wrapped up in <em> his </em> troub-</p><p> </p><p>T… Tommy. Tommy’s phone. He resisted the urge to feel his pocket, he didn’t need to, he knew it was there. He still had Tommy’s phone. He could. He could call for help. Wilbur was so glad he’d already been obscuring his face because he was certain his realization had dawned over his expression. He could call for help. He had a way out, a plan. He blinked, eyes shifting as his mind raced. The cameras were down, no one was watching them. The only way for anyone to know they were supposed to harm Tommy was if Schlatt gave the order. The device was in his pocket. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur suddenly had a reason to fight. He was going to. He glanced over at Schlatt, who was right next to him at this point (still talking). He seemed to believe he’d quelled the small surge of rebellion. This was- he could- <em> now.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Wilbur was probably the weakest in his family. He wasn’t experienced like Phil or strong like Technoblade and he didn’t have an unbridled ardency to fall back on like Tommy. However, in his family, that was kind of like being the smallest mouse. He still was a little above average, even if he’d hated it he’d still spent years sparring with Technoblade, he still was enough. </p><p> </p><p>It shocked most people, it certainly surprised Schlatt when he lunged. He grabbed his wrist holding the gun and slammed it onto the floor, kneeling on top of him with his full weight. It went off, he felt bile rise in his throat, his head was going to shatter from the ringing but if it hurt him it hurt Schlatt too. He tore the weapon out from his grip, haphazardly chucking it away. He didn’t even let himself have time to regret not keeping it, as it clattered against the door he was too busy crashing them both to the ground.</p><p> </p><p>“WHAT TH-“</p><p> </p><p>Schlatt was cut off by a punch to the fucking face. Wilbur was manic at this point, fighting quite literally for his life. For his and for Tommy’s and- Tommy. Tommy. He changed targets in a split second, beating the pocket of Schlatt’s coat again and again, feeling the phone or tablet or whatever he was using to communicate with whoever was holding Tommy crunch between his fist and Schlatt’s ribs. It took three hits before he was satisfied it had been properly broken. That brief moment of relief proved to be a mistake however as it gave Schlatt the opportunity to shove him off. </p><p> </p><p>“You…” he heaved, “are going to regret that.”</p><p> </p><p>In a sense Wilbur already did. What was his plan? What now? Why? What? Who? His mind was racing so fast he couldn’t catch any of the thoughts. Phone. He needed to call. Call for help. He- </p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t do anything but crumple further down onto the floor as he was whacked across the face with something cold and heavy. Schlatt must have grabbed a stand piece off one of the walls. It stung but he barely had any time to feel the pain as he shot his arms up to gaurd himself from another blow. The metal crashed against what felt like just his bones. He screamed out in pain, finally. It almost felt good, he’d been wanting to scream from the moment Schlatt first threatened him. It had just taken getting beat with half a music stand for it all to finally fall out. </p><p> </p><p>He rolled over, head pounding, clinging his arms to his chest. He needed- he needed to- he was okay? Schlatt wasn’t attacking him anymore. Why? He wasn’t even standing over him, where had he gone? Wilbur’s eyes widened, half of him screamed ‘<em> he’s going to get the gun’ </em> while the other shouted ‘ <em> get the phone, call for help, now is your chance!’ </em> He listened to the latter, it didn’t matter if Schlatt shot him, not if he could get help. He scampered to get the phone out of his pocket, almost weeping at the familiar sight of Tommy’s lock screen. Tubbo smiled at him, holding his bee plushie while Tommy held his cow. Wilbur rushingly swiped over to the emergency contacts but- could he really call… who should… </p><p> </p><p>He only froze for a moment. Just a millisecond of doubt, of memory of Schlatt’s warnings, how unconcerned he seemed with police. If he was right, if he was safe, then none of this mattered. The bastard would kill him and maybe Tommy, get away with it, then probably destroy Phil and Techno just out of anger, then who knows how many other people. It was only for a second he hesitated, but it was too late. </p><p> </p><p>“HEY!” </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur heard two fast footsteps and before he could blink the phone was kicked from his hands. <em> NO. </em>No, he wouldn’t let this be the end. In an act of complete desperation he spun around to tackle Schlatt again, half expecting to be shot… but… he wasn’t, he was only pushed back and punched. It took him a moment of being beat to realize Schlatt hadn’t gotten the gun, it was still by the door. He must have abandoned it when he noticed Wilbur with a phone. That meant he DID care, at least a little. It wasn’t hopeless. It wasn’t hopeless! He was going to- he- </p><p> </p><p>He shoved Schlatt, hearing him slam against a table as he dove for the phone. He grasped it, wildly tapping at the emergency contacts, praying he’d hit for the police or Philza. He only had a second before he saw a figure moving out of the corner of his eye. Schlatt was trying to get to the front of the room, to get the gun again. </p><p> </p><p>“NO!”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur jumped over the table. It was easy, he and his brothers had been jumping and climbing around <em>buildings </em>since they were 12, he barely even thought about it. Once again though, it let him catch Schlatt off guard <em> just enough </em> for him to get the upper hand he needed. He grabbed the stand part Schlatt had abandoned earlier and began to fight. He wasn’t scared anymore. He was… he wasn’t feeling anything he even knew a word for. He wasn’t thinking of anything else as he hit and hit and hit this bastard. This fucking <em> scum </em>that he’d ever been stupid enough to call a friend. He’d hurt him. He’d threatened Phil, he’d threatened Technoblade, he’d threatened Tommy… all just to get to him.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur was done. He was done being the prey, the pawn, the tool, the idiot. The emotional exhaust from this whole experience was creeping up on him, numbing him, darkening his mind. He didn’t notice the door being opened. He didn’t hear someone screaming for him to stop. He didn’t care. </p><p> </p><p>He was done. </p><p>He was done. </p><p>He was done. </p><p> </p><p>He was going to deal with his own trouble himself. He wasn’t going to let anyone, <em> anyone, </em>get caught in his game. He was going to keep his promise. </p><p> </p><p>He was going to end this. </p><p> </p><p>He was going to <em> end </em>this. </p><p> </p><p>He was-</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>There was a gunshot.</b>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>54321... 0</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Weak</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tommy finds himself a hostage.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Uh slight cw for drugs? They’re not drugs they’re potion effects but I guess the result might be kind of similar and I wanted to give a heads up. It gets heavier from here on out in general It’s been mostly fluff and set up to this point but now the angst tags come in :)<br/>———<br/>This was going to be multiple POVs but took long to write so look forward to some short side characters' next time. Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Everything was... wrong. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy’s eyes squeezed shut. Oh... oh, he was so tired. He felt like he’d run twenty marathons but he wasn’t out of breath or sweaty or anything. He was just achy, weak, exhausted. Tired to the point of it almost being painful. </p><p> </p><p>He was dead, wasn’t he? </p><p> </p><p>Memories played over and over in his mind, consuming him like he was living them. He wasn’t even sure he had his eyes closed. He didn’t have anything to focus on other than the worlds he was living. He wasn’t aware anything else did or had ever existed. How strange then, that despite the fact he knew of nothing else, he couldn’t quite tell what they were. Shapes, colors, sounds, feelings, all so out of tune. He could tell when they changed but never into what. He could tell when he was somewhere new or moving but never to where. It was like hearing something just barely too quiet to make out. </p><p> </p><p>He knew what this was. Words dripped across his brain as he searched for the answer he didn’t need.... <em> dreaming. </em> </p><p> </p><p>Something about it was almost pleasant. There was a comfort, a blanket, a cage about it. It wavered around him like a bubble, there, loose, deceivingly corporeal. He could imagine it protecting him to the point of it almost being real. Almost, but not quite. He was continuously reminded of its inexistence. Cold air sunk through the not-there barrier and into his skin. He was cold. It was cold. He shuffled himself into his coat. <em> Coat. </em> He was wearing a coat, thankfully. Actually, his body was rather warm. He had on double layers. Why? A good thing, it was brisk here, only his face and hands and ankles were chilly. He lifted his heavy, heavy, arms in an attempt to shift positions but found himself unable. Too tired to ignore it he sunk his conscious back into itself and resumed his nothingness. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy’s eyes stung behind his eyelids. He tried to reposition himself to shield from the light but no matter what direction he attempted to toss or turn it was there. Uncomfortable. It bothered him so much. And what was that noise? No. No, he just wanted to go back to sleep. He tried to ignore it all. Why was he moving? Something was shaking him. He tried to ignore it. He was so tired. He felt like his blood and bones had been replaced with sand. He was an anchor at the bottom of the ocean... <em> but they wouldn’t stop trying to wake him up! </em> Someone was calling to him. It was inaudible but as he was forced to be more and more conscious his mind caught on and began to process. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Tommy! Tommy, wake up. Wake the fuck up,” someone hissed.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>They were whispering, but they were loud. Angry? No, <em> scared. </em> It was unfamiliar and antsy but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Unfortunately, he also couldn’t ignore them no matter how hard he tried. Begrudgingly, he opened his eyes. He couldn’t see anything, it was too bright. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Tommy, listen to me. Can you hear me? I’m... so sorry. It’s gonna be okay. This is fine. We’re gonna get you out of here okay? I- shit. He’s calling. He just... this is just an example, okay? We’re not- I’m not actually going to do anything. You just sit tight and look... look like how you look. Okay. Okay, here we go. I just need to answer... it’s gonna be fine... I need to be quiet... ahaha...”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ugh. He wanted to tell Quackity to shut up. Yeah... yeah, that was Quackity. His eyes were adjusting now and he could make out his surroundings. Big Q was in front of him, holding up some weird kinda camera. He was shaking and sweating like crazy. He looked scared, it should have been funny but wasn’t for a reason Tommy wasn’t aware enough to grasp yet. Why was the light so bright? Tommy rolled his head back in an attempt to hide, squinting. Was this what a hangover felt like? He’d never had one before but he guessed the feeling was similar. Ugh, he felt almost sick. He drifted... he...</p><p> </p><p><b>BANG</b> </p><p> </p><p>Tommy jolted upright. His chest was pounding. BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, his heart echoed the awful sound, bruising his ribs from the inside out. His torso was going to explode. His veins were going to pop. There was so much adrenaline rushing, surging, bursting throughout him. His head ached. His stomach ached. His muscles ached. He was awake, he was awake, he was awake but his body was so heavy. What- he felt tears begin to burn through his eyes- what was that?  He jerked back, trying to panic, to move, to look, to do anything, but found himself restricted. Restrained. </p><p> </p><p>“Tommy?”</p><p> </p><p>There were hands on his shoulders. He had hands on him, he had someone touching- holding-. no. NO! He tried to jump back, writhing in his seat. </p><p> </p><p>“Tommy! Shh. Shhh. Look at me.” </p><p> </p><p>The hands stayed steady on his shoulders. They weren’t holding him down, just in place. Their grip was firm to the point of being painful but it wasn’t sharp. The voice... familiar... Quackity. Tommy finally registered his sense of sight. There was Quackity. He was in a room with Quackity. Was this- was this a joke? Yeah, yeah, no, of course. The assumption did nothing to calm his nerves, he hated this. That bastard. He tried to scold and scream, to yell and erupt, that this wasn’t fucking funny but found himself too tired to hold more than just a spark of rage. Worse than that, his jaw and limbs felt like stone. There was something in his mouth. He started to chew and spit in some attempt to understand the taste of fabric choking him.</p><p> </p><p>“Shh, shh, shut up. Shut up, Tommy. Stop trying to scream,” Quackity winced at his own words. “I- I mean it. Please. That... wasn’t supposed to happen. I don’t know what’s going on. Something’s gone wrong.” </p><p> </p><p>What? What went wrong? What was that sound? Where was he? Tommy twisted his head, finally taking in his surroundings. He was in a concrete room. Some kind of basement? It was small but bigger than you’d expect an old storeroom to be. There was shuffling heard from the ceiling, there were people above. Cabinets and cubbies lined far back walls. There was an opening carved into one wall where a door should go. Along the left and right walls behind Quackity, there were these kinds of table things, on top of them were lines and lines of... familiar... glowing... </p><p> </p><p><em>Brewing stands,</em> a voice that sounded suspiciously like Wilbur whispered to him. Tommy didn’t know a lot about brewing. He knew it was illegal but he also knew Wilbur had done it so he never considered it <em> that </em> bad. Twice in his life, Tommy had gotten to have potions. Once was when he was ill in the hospital and he’d needed to take a regeneration. They had to splash the bottle over him because he couldn’t drink anything, it had smelled like burnt-marshmallow soda and made him feel, well, healthy. The other time, Wilbur gave him a sip of a swiftness. It was really sugary, made him feel hyper and fast and breezy. Wilbur had gotten into a lot of trouble for it but it was one of the coolest moments of Tommy’s life. Now he realized he may have another to add to his list. He was tired. He was so tired but not in his mind or his eyes, only in his limbs. He felt heavy in a way that sunk through his bones. He felt weak. Wilbur knew a lot more about potions than him but he’d told Tommy a lot. He at least knew a lot of their names. He was weak. He- </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Something hit the back of his neck. He didn’t even have time to register anything about it (Solid? Cold? Liquid?) before everything shut off. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Potions. Weakness. Oh... </p><p> </p><p>He was an idiot. He was an <em> idiot, </em> why hadn’t he just waited to ask Wilbur to get the pin? He could have! It would have been fine but NO, he just had to have his fun. To have an adventure.  To sneak around and <em> ‘investigate.’ </em> Oh, it all made him want to gag. The idea of throwing up would be appealing if it wasn’t for the crumpled cloth shoved into his mouth. How did it end up this bad?</p><p> </p><p>Tommy was a hazard. It was a gift, it was a talent, it was skill, the way he could fuck up any situation beyond how fucked it reasonably should be able to be. He was kind of aware of his power, he took some perverse joy in it. It was fun! It was always all in the name of excitement, curiosity, innocent things like that. In all honesty, he knew his trouble would catch up to him one day. However, he’d always assumed it would be karmic, that it would come in a deserving way that matched the crime. Like, maybe he’d slack off and lose his job or cheat or get caught trespassing and be arrested. He didn’t think it would end him up kidnapped by some kind of mob! A fucking gang or some shit <em> Quackity </em> of all people- </p><p> </p><p>Quackity. What the fuck was he doing? What was he thinking? This wasn’t him, he wouldn’t do this without some kind of push. He wouldn’t hurt Tommy, he wouldn’t hurt anyone, not like <em> this! </em>He was better than that... wasn’t he? Tommy took a breath, almost vomiting in the process, and tried to calm down. He strained his neck in an attempt to subtly sneak a look at his supposed kidnapper. Quackity took no notice of Tommy’s suddenly trained gaze, he was too busy half pacing in the back, hyperventilating between hushed hollow laughter. His expression was one of overwhelming disbelief as though he would break down laughing or crying any second. He didn’t... he didn’t look evil. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy bit down hard. Maybe this wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe he could get out of this. Maybe... </p><p> </p><p>He called out. He didn’t scream, he didn’t even use words as they’d bet muffled anyway, but yelled just enough to get attention. Quackity jumped, whipping around a bit too fast. His defensive and sharp eyes softened when they fell on Tommy.  </p><p> </p><p>“I’m... sorry. Are you okay?” </p><p> </p><p>Tommy found it in himself to properly glare. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Quackity laughed, a little deranged. “Dumb question. Glad to see you’re still you, Tommy.” </p><p> </p><p>Tommy squirmed around a bit, tugging at his restraints. He didn’t like looking or feeling pathetic but if that’s what it took to get him out of here he was going to be the <em> sorriest </em> mother fucker. Part of him could manage. He tried to eye his hands, silently begging Quackity to get the message and untie him. To take pity and at least let him be free while stuck down here. He was rehearsing his pleas and promises in his head, how he’d say he wouldn’t try to escape (false), that he was scared (unfortunately true), and that he believed Quackity was really a good person (...he didn’t know). Whatever, so long as it got him out of here. </p><p> </p><p>“I can’t-“ Quackity’s voice cracked. </p><p> </p><p>He took a sharp breath, head falling into his hands for a moment. When he lifted it up again it was… dull. His expression, it- no offense to whatever the hell Quackity was going through at the moment- but it was creepy as hell. Tommy thought his fake ‘everything is gonna be okay’ face was unnerving but at least it was <em> familiar. </em>He’d seen Quackity panic plenty of times. It was almost signature. He hadn’t taken into account how much of his problem actually came from his situation, not his assailant. Quackity wasn’t the problem here and having him (HIM! The funny, stupid, friend, guy!) look at Tommy like he was terrified and mourning shook Tommy to his core. </p><p> </p><p>“I can’t untie you. I can’t even let you speak! I mean, do you know what Schlatt would do to me if something… if something <em> else </em> went wrong? Why did he fire? Why the fuck did he fire? He promised me it was just a tactic, he said ‘Quackity, don’t worry, no one’s gonna die, I promise. That’s not what we want.’ He looked me right in the eyes and said it!”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy stared blankly at his surroundings as Quackity began rambling to himself. Schlatt. Schlatt? S-seriously? Schlatt? But he was cool! He was funny! Tommy looked up to him. For some reason, Tommy was having a harder time wrapping his mind around the fact this was Schlatt’s plan than the fact Quackity had kidnapped him. He didn’t even know Schlatt that well! Maybe that was his answer right there, with Quackity he could at least pretend this was all just some big joke but… he couldn’t- this wasn’t- yeah, this wasn’t really happening, right? </p><p> </p><p>“He promised…” Quackity mumbled. “Maybe it was just a test? A threat? Y-yeah. Just bang into the wall, show him we mean business. Except we don’t, not like that. He wouldn’t lie though, right? He promised no one would… die…” </p><p> </p><p>Quackity’s eyes fell to Tommy, who shuddered under their gaze. He blocked out the sentence that had come before it from his mind and tried to ignore what words came next.</p><p> </p><p>“What are- what’s the plan here… what are we gonna do with you? He won’t-“ Quackity stopped, a sick look of betrayal and understanding grimaced across his face. “He won’t let you go, he can’t ever let you go,” Quackity breathed. “There is no ‘when this is over.’ This is… this is a problem for life. There’s no way out of this. I- I can’t leave him but you…”</p><p> </p><p>His head snapped to face Tommy, mouth shut tight and eyes sharp. He began walking towards Tommy, clearly having come to some sort of decision. Tommy wasn’t sure if he could hear Quackity’s heart beating or if his own had grown so loud it seemed foreign. He found what little air he had left fell out of his mouth so loosely ad clumsily he wouldn’t dare call it a breath. Quackity came closer… and closer…. and then he passed the chair. Before Tommy had time to think of some other danger this could mean he felt the ropes around his wrist loosen. They didn’t come undone. He was still stuck as far as he could tell but he had just the slightest bit of wiggle room between his wrists. </p><p> </p><p>“I hope that’s enough,” a whisper came from behind Tommy, so quiet he wasn’t even sure it was real. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>BANG </b>
</p><p> </p><p><em>“WHY?”</em> Quackity screamed, ducking and covering his head. </p><p> </p><p>He laid there for a moment, curled up beside the chair, not even realizing his scream had Tommy feeling like he’d jumped out of his skin, or, maybe it was the sound? That was the second time they’d heard it. Loud. LOUD. Ringing. It punched a hole in his stomach. He wanted to ask but, even if he hadn’t been gagged, Quackity was not in a position to be spoken to. He slowly removed his hands, shaking more than ever. He achingly pulled himself to his feet. </p><p> </p><p>“No. No. I’m done. I said I’d stay down here. I swore I’d wait for a signal but <em> he </em> swore no one would get hurt. Twice. Two is too many. No fucking way am I waiting down here any longer.” </p><p> </p><p>Quackity continued muttering to himself as he staggered across the floor, into the other room without the door where Tommy couldn’t see him anymore. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy wasted no time with making sure he was gone; as soon as he disappeared behind the frame Tommy began writhing. His wrists burned from being rubbed together but he could feel the ties begin to loosen. Finally, he got to a point where he abandoned loosening and just tried to escape. It took him a little longer than it should have to try one arm at a time. His wrists popped and ached as he worked but it all felt worth it from the absolute rush and relief he felt as he yanked his left arm free. He was so excited it took a few tries to untangle his right. He didn’t care, he was free! He triumphantly ripped the gag out of his mouth and jumped to his feet. </p><p> </p><p>Immediately, regret flooded him as his head near exploded with pain. Oh... oh, <em> ow. </em> He probably shouldn’t have sprung up so fast. Despite the headache, he felt pretty good, all things considered. He didn’t feel so ugly anymore, not so heavy in the limbs, still exhausted but in the natural ‘I’ve gotten five hours of sleep in the last two days’ kind of way he was used to. He stretched out his arms. His wrists were red, the rope had carved deep trenches into his skin that remained purple at the tips. God, fuck whoever did that. Quackity. Schlatt? Whatever, fuck them.  </p><p> </p><p>Now... what now? Gears began screeching in his head, slowly creaking to life in some attempt to work out a plan. Now, escape. Quackity clearly wanted him to escape right? But it didn’t seem planned. Where did he go? What did he do? How did he not get caught? Deciding to take it one step at a time, he took a step. No one jumped out to attack him, aside from a few muffled movements above him he was entirely alone. Okay. He took another step, same story. Another. Then another. Soon he’d creeped his way into the other room. A damp smell hit his nose as the ground beneath his feet gave way to sand. He was startled at the crunch but, again, nothing killed him. It was a farm, he realized. A little plot of strange soil growing some weird rubbery-looking plant. It smelled kind of like stuff Phil kept in the kitchen sometimes. It tasted awful but Phil liked to chew on it. Tommy wondered if it was the same...</p><p> </p><p>NOPE! No! He was not going to taste the weird wart-looking plants growing in his kidnapper’s basement. Even <em> he </em> was not that impulsive. No. No. No thanks. No thank you!</p><p> </p><p>He slunk his way around the little garden, glad no one was here to see his expression. On the back wall, there was a ladder. It was difficult to see. There was no light in this room, at least none Tommy was willing to waste time finding, so he mostly needed to feel his way about it. It was cold to the touch. This whole place was cold, the sand seemed to work as a reversed-heater. His coat felt bulky on top of his two shirts. He thought about removing it so he could move easier but decided it didn’t matter. </p><p> </p><p>The ladder led up to something in the ceiling. It looked like nothing but Tommy could feel a slim crack in the ceiling and a small metal ring. A lock, but it wasn’t locked.  There was a trap door here. It unlatched and swung down with a pop, nearly hitting Tommy in the head. There was a lock on the other side too. Huh, one to keep people in and one to keep people out. He climbed up another rung. There was still something blocking the way. It was cold and heavy, it felt like- it felt like concrete. His mind flashed to the night before. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Concrete. It was just concrete. There probably was a room here at some point, probably storage of some kind like he’d expected, but it was long gone by now. They’d filled it up for one reason or another. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Unless... it wasn’t. Was he still in the shop? His heart leaped. He knew where he was. He knew where Wilbur was! This wasn’t so bad after all! He excitedly pressed a hand against the heavy stone and pushed, it didn’t move upwards (or easily at all) but after a struggle, he realized it went sideways, into a slot in the wall. It took way more effort than seemed reasonable but he managed to slide it open just a crack. His heart began doing jumping jacks as the slit of light shone through onto his face. The muffled shuffling and voices cleared into the obvious steps and shouting of the people above him. </p><p> </p><p>“I TOLD you to <em> stay-” </em></p><p> </p><p>“YOU <em> TOLD </em> ME THIS <em> WOULDN’T HAPPEN!” </em></p><p> </p><p>Quackity and Schlatt were arguing right over his head. Tommy held his breath and ducked down a rung, maybe he could just wait them out? </p><p> </p><p>“This wasn’t my fault,” Schlatt snarled. </p><p> </p><p>“So you’ve said! <em> I don’t fucking care right now! </em> You-”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry…” a third voice cut through the fight. It was soft but <em> searing </em> with emotion, Tommy didn’t recognize it.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, would you shut up? I still have half a mind to shoot you! This is <em> your </em> fault, you know.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t mean… I thought… he was going to kill…”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you’re probably right.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“WHAT? Wilbur would nev-“</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur? They were talking about Wilbur. Why? </p><p> </p><p>“Hah,” Schlatt scoffed. “Oh, he was definitely going to kill me. I recognize the look. Not to mention the damage he did already, have you seen my fucking face? It’s amazing my jaw isn’t broken. I guess I’m lucky this all went to shit the way it did. You know what, I take it back. I’m not going to kill you. In fact, I’m going to <em> help </em> you.” </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t... want… your help…” </p><p> </p><p>“Why do you people always think you have a choice?” </p><p> </p><p>“No… no, never! I won’t!” </p><p> </p><p>“You will. Unless, of course, you want to spend the rest of your life rotting in jail?” </p><p> </p><p>“It was an accident!” </p><p> </p><p>“Was it? As far as I remember, you broke into my shop and shot my employee in the name of political gain! When I tried to stop you you began beating me. I might’ve ended up dead if my partner hadn’t shown up. Isn’t that right, Quackity?” </p><p> </p><p>“...Y-yeah.” </p><p> </p><p>“You people are monsters.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, don’t get cute. Come on, I’ll deal with <em> this </em> mess later, keep you clean and all that. A sign of my support, <em> councilman. </em> Quackity, please escort this poor bystander somewhere they can calm their nerves. Take him for a walk.” </p><p> </p><p>“What about you?” </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve got to check up on our<em> guest.”  </em></p><p> </p><p>“What-” the new voice was getting more audibly distressed. “What does that mean? Who <em> are </em> you? What are you doing?” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, and I thought you wanted nothing to do with us?” </p><p> </p><p>“SHUT UP you two!” </p><p> </p><p>There was a pause, letting Quackity’s words ring in the air. His voice was trembling but searing, it was kind of scary. If Tommy hadn’t seen him so shaken before he would’ve been intimidated. </p><p> </p><p>“Schlatt, I- I’d appreciate a little help. Don’t worry about T- our guest. He’s out like a light. I gave him his last dose of weakness and he zonked. He’s not going anywhere even if he wakes up. Do you really trust me to deal with this guy by myself?”</p><p> </p><p>That was a lie. Tommy’s heart quickened, his eyes darted around like flies despite there being nothing new to see. Quackity had lied. He’d given Tommy a chance. This wasn’t an accident, <em> Tommy really had a chance!   </em></p><p> </p><p>“You know what, you’re absolutely right. I don’t need you making friends. No middlemen.” </p><p> </p><p>“I- I-“ the other voice tried to protest as footsteps began leading out of the room. </p><p> </p><p>“If you didn’t want to get caught up in this maybe you shouldn’t have picked up a gun and <em> killed </em> my other option!”</p><p> </p><p>The heavy sound of a door thunking shut bred the loudest silence Tommy had ever heard. He dropped down from the ladder, falling, unable to keep his grip. He stumbled back into a wall, ankles screaming from impact. He didn’t care. He barely noticed. <em> Killed. Shot. Gun. </em> Bits of the conversation finally began sticking together in Tommy’s mind. The noises. The bangs. The panic. <em> Gunshot. Gunshot. Gunshot. </em>The word bounced around his head like a poisoned pinball, he was certain there were cracks formed inside his skull. </p><p> </p><p>Every ounce of control and calm he felt flooded out and left dry, dark, empty, hollow inside him. He pulled his head back and squeezed his eyes shut and tried to weep. He didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know. He didn’t know. He didn’t know. He didn’t- no. Tommy tried to swallow but had no spit. </p><p> </p><p>Still, he forced himself on his feet. He didn’t know, <em> maybe it was fine. </em> He pulled himself onto the ladder. He needed to go <em> now, </em> while Quackity had Schlatt distracted. <em> Another rung. </em> He could go home! He’d be in trouble, but he would never leave home again anyway. He’d be safe with Technoblade, with Phil. <em> The concrete cover moved over with a few shoves. </em> He’d be happy with Wilbur and- and- Tubbo was coming home today! <em> He grasped the surface with one arm, then the other. </em> What time was it? Tubbo could be at the station right now! <em> He heaved his torso out, then his leg, then his other leg, and… </em>he was free! He was in the workroom from last night, he recognized it even in the light. He- </p><p> </p><p>He saw… he… saw… </p><p> </p><p>Tommy blacked out, there was no other way to describe it. He didn’t faint, he didn’t pass out, he just stopped. His mind rolled itself back like a camera, freezing on the last happy thought he’d had. Tubbo. Tubbo was at the station. Maybe. Tubbo. Tubbo. Tubbo. He needed to find Tubbo. He needed to leave. <em> He had to get out of here. </em>He had to leave fast, NOW, before his mind caught up with his eyes. He stumbled backward, removing hands he didn’t know he had placed over his mouth. Had he breathed? Had he blinked? It didn’t matter. Leave. Go! Now! NOW! </p><p> </p><p>“TUBBO!” </p><p><br/>
With a broken cry, Tommy turned and <em> flew. </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've always thought soul sand was unnaturally cold against the heat of the nether, a vacuum sucking up all warmth as well as spirit energy and souls.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. The Other End</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A glimpse into Quackity and Tubbo's POV.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was originally going to be part of the last chapter but it was taking too long to write and this chapter was a bit of a headache. Anyway, I'm content (although not entirely satisfied) with how it turned out if it is a bit short and skitzy.<br/>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Quackity reeled, spitting and choking in shock. He tenderly brought a hand up to his face, gasping a bit as his finger came back wet and red. Blood. He was bleeding. He turned to look at his assailant, not even attempting to hide the disbelief. In some way, he didn’t dare mess it up. Disbelief was neutral. Shock would treat him better than fear or anger, shock wouldn’t get him hit again. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, don’t look so <em> surprised,” </em>Schlatt scoffed. </p><p> </p><p>He nonchalantly walked around the room, flexing his hand as though he’d simply knocked it against a table on accident, as though he hadn’t intentionally just bashed it against Quackity’s jaw. As if he hadn’t just jumped from twenty to a hundred to zero in the span of two minutes. The fact he switched back and forth so seamlessly was worse than any physical pain he’d inflicted. Quackity stood up as straight as he could, wiping away the blood from his lip and attempting to steady himself. </p><p> </p><p>“What... was that for?” </p><p> </p><p>Schlatt stopped pacing. He lifted a hand to his face, inhaling deeply. </p><p> </p><p>“Quackity, Quackity, Quackity, what am I going to do with you? I know you’re an <em> idiot </em> and all that but please, just this once, THINK!” </p><p> </p><p>He grabbed Quackity’s collar as he shouted the last word, snarling. Tears and bile rose inside Quackity as he braced for another blow, or worse, but it never came. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I’m an idiot. I <em> am </em> an idiot! I didn’t lock the room. I let him get away because I was stupid and preoccupied with things that weren’t my business!” </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t a lie, Quackity really did think of himself as an idiot, but for what? Letting Tommy go? Deceiving Schlatt? Trusting him? Getting himself in this situation to begin with? Everything had been fine. Everything had been great! Business was good, no one was onto them, no one was getting hurt, and they were all friends! Schlatt had always been the real boss in terms of arrangements. Quackity knew he was in a little deeper than he let himself believe but... this? He bit his tounge and tried to reason with himself. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t just tell me what I want to hear, give me a damn answer!” </p><p> </p><p>“I- it’s just-” <em> It’s just you said no one would... get hurt. </em> “I don’t understand what’s going on because you won’t fucking tell me!” </p><p> </p><p>“And clearly I was right not to! You can’t handle the <em> simplest </em> of requests besides fucking brewing, and you don’t even get <em> that </em> right a lot of the time.”  </p><p> </p><p>“OKAY! So, I fucked up. What now?”</p><p> </p><p>“Look, I’m <em> sorry </em>I hit you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I- it’s fine. Don’t worry about it, just answer my question. Please.”</p><p> </p><p>Schlatt sighed, rubbing his face, he winced a little at the touch. It was beginning to bruise already. Quackity flinched in sympathy, he really had taken a beating. Wilbur wouldn’t… no, yeah, he guessed Wilbur really <em> would </em> have killed him. Given the circumstances, he shouldn’t be shocked. Quackity bit down a lump in his throat and abandoned that train of thought for the millionth time. He had tried to clean Schlatt up the best he could but he wasn’t a medic. He barely had a full first aid kit in his home. He’d barely been able to drag Schlatt to his house in the first place. He understood <em> why </em> Schlatt didn’t want to go to the hospital but he probably broke something...</p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” Schlatt shrugged. “We’re on thin ice. We have a problem. We need to solve that problem.”</p><p> </p><p>“And how do we do that?”</p><p> </p><p>“You won’t like it.” </p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, because of <em> you, </em> we’ve got loose ends.” </p><p> </p><p>Loose... ends... oh. Of course. Yeah, yeah, sure, why not? Why the FUCK not, huh? Why did- how did everything go to hell so fast? He was a criminal. He was pretty good at it, at least in his experience. Maybe his experience wasn’t all he cracked it up to be. At first, it had just been a fallback in case law school didn’t work out but by now he just considered it his regular old job. He was good at what he did but ‘what he did’ had never interfered with his personal life. Never like this. He’d never needed to kill anyone. He never thought he’d have to, not for something like this. Not for something he didn’t even know. Not for something that wasn’t their fault. </p><p> </p><p>But... it <em> was </em> Tommy’s fault, he supposed. He shouldn’t have been there. He was trespassing, breaking and entering for crying out loud! A bitter taste flooded Quackity’s mouth as he recalled the events of last night. Schlatt wanted to bring Wilbur into the deal. It wasn’t Quackity’s place to question it. They’d gotten there at nearly four in the morning and Tommy had just been there. At the time Quackity hadn’t thought much of it, he just panicked at there being an intruder and threw it. Only, would that have really been the end? The way Schlatt seemed actually <em> pleased </em> about the turn of events… something nagged at Quackity, giggling and mocking that his world would turn against himself no matter what Tommy did or didn’t do. That it was inevitable. That he was an idiot. That he was weak. That Schlatt was right about him... but he <em> wasn’t. </em></p><p> </p><p>Quackity clenched his fist. He bit his tongue so hard he thought it would bleed, then he stopped. He stopped biting his tongue, stopped holding it. He loosened it, sharpened it, he was going to fucking say something. Everything. What he wanted to. </p><p> </p><p>“You keep talking to me like I’m <em> beneath </em> you! You get customers, I brew, I sell, <em> I </em> get customers, what the fuck do YOU do except fill out tax forms every once in a while? You forget I’m the only reason you- I mean <em> we </em>have this spot in the first place.” </p><p> </p><p>“FORGET the shop, Quackity! Forget potions while you’re at it! You have no idea how little it all matters.” </p><p> </p><p>“Because you won’t tell me!”</p><p> </p><p>“Because you can’t handle it!” </p><p> </p><p>“How do you know that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well you’ve proved it today, haven’t you?” </p><p> </p><p>Quackity gritted his teeth, getting defensive. He hadn’t let Tommy go <em> exactly </em>but… Schlatt wasn’t honest with him. </p><p> </p><p>“This isn’t what I signed up for, Schlatt.”</p><p> </p><p>“This is EXACTLY what you signed up for.”</p><p> </p><p>“NO! No, I signed up to sell potions, okay? I won’t pretend to be some Robin Hood or saint, I’m here for the money, but this is a fucking leap in job description from handing out invisibilities. I don’t like to ask a lot of questions-“</p><p> </p><p>“Then stop asking questions.”</p><p> </p><p>”WILBUR WAS OUR FRIEND!”</p><p> </p><p>There was silence. Schlatt stopped pacing. </p><p> </p><p>“I mean, I know why what happened had to happen...”</p><p> </p><p>“...It wasn’t supposed to happen. I really didn’t mean for him to die.”</p><p> </p><p>“But he did. He did and now we’re supposed to go kill a <em> teenager? </em> You’re a businessman, I’m a brewer, we’re not fucking HITMEN, J!”</p><p> </p><p>Schlatt whipped around, grabbing Quackity by the collar and violently pulling him to eye level. </p><p> </p><p>“We are <em> whatever the fuck </em> they tell us to be, YOU are what <em> I </em> say you are,” he hissed. “Things need to happen. It may not be what you wanted, it may not be what you thought, buts it’s what you signed up for. So, <em> Big Q,” he </em> sneered <em> “ </em>why don’t shut your candy-ass up, put on that big dumb fucking smile of yours, and fall. In. Line.” </p><p> </p><p>Quackity took a breath. It was shaky but not with fear, with anger. He was tired of this. He realized how pathetic he really was but that <em> wasn’t his fault. </em>Schlatt had hidden things from him. Schlatt hadn’t told him the truth. He knew there was a ‘they.’ He knew there were things, other people, other criminals, Schlatt dealt with. He didn’t know much more than that. He didn’t think he needed to but if Schlatt was going to drag him into it then he didn’t want to be treated like some dumb fucking bystander. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know where the damn line IS!” </p><p> </p><p>“What’s-“</p><p> </p><p>“How the fuck am I supposed to be a good help if I’m purposefully kept in the dark? Maybe I would be better at this if you bothered to <em> tell me </em>the whole plan, or even just the goal!”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not cut out for this. This is all something of a game to you, isn’t it? Get rich, get power, but you don’t comprehend anything outside your own little circle of crime. Hah! <em> Crime. </em> It’s only a ‘crime’ because that makes it profitable but you don’t even understand <em> that. </em>Do yourself a favor and forget I said anything, forget you were involved at all, stick with your potions.” </p><p> </p><p>“A little late for that.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you <em> want?” </em></p><p> </p><p>“I want-“ Quackity paused.</p><p> </p><p>What <em> did </em> he want? Why had he started in the first place? He… he wanted to be something. Safe. Secure. On the map, under it. He wanted money, yeah, but not in the way everyone thought. He wasn’t rich but he <em> had </em>money if and when he needed it. He had security. In the end, he thought of brewing as just his job and he could get that from plenty of jobs. Hell, he was technically qualified to become a lawyer if he wanted. So what did he want? Not fame, not in a tangible way. Honestly… he wanted power. It was juvenile and selfish but it was what he wanted. It was what he had, or thought he had. </p><p> </p><p>Was he really cut out for this? He closed his eyes and let the awful memory overtake him. How they’d come in from the back just in time to see Tommy just as he fled out the door. Quackity had almost run after him but Schlatt caught his shoulder, hissing something about being seen chasing him. Schlatt had tossed away something in frustration, it was Tommy’s pin. Quackity had picked it up and just stared at it, empty, before suddenly dropping it in the front room. Why? Did he care? Would he care if it was some random kid and not people he knew, not people he considered his friends? He would need to. </p><p> </p><p>Quackity hadn’t felt relieved. He hadn’t felt glad or comforted at the thought Tommy had gotten away so why did he feel so bad at the thought of him <em> not </em>really getting away? What was he even feeling? Did he care or not? What did he want? What was he? Realization of how very small and puny he really was sunk in, again. He was tired of it. He was sick of how complacent he’d become. How fragile and pathetic he still was. He was over it but he wasn’t done yet. </p><p> </p><p>“Schlatt,” he ruggedly said, holding himself steady. He could feel his eyes dull. “I… am sorry.” </p><p> </p><p>“I-“ Schlatt took another breath, taking his hands off Quackity and holding them up in surrender. “I’m sorry too. This is my fault. It was <em> my </em> job. Don’t worry about the… loose ends. It doesn’t have to be your problem anymore. You just don’t know how to really deal in the world we live in.” </p><p> </p><p>“I could.” </p><p> </p><p>“What?” Schlatt laughed. </p><p> </p><p>“I mean it. I could learn. You’re right, I was too happy being stagnant. I’m  just a pawn, I’m a coward, I’m a child pretending to be a bad guy for fun and I’m sick of it.” </p><p> </p><p>“You’re leaving?” </p><p> </p><p>“No, I’m moving up. I will help you, Schlatt. I can do this, but I need to be all in. You need to start treating me like your actual equal.” </p><p> </p><p>“Well, I wouldn’t say equal.” </p><p> </p><p>“You wouldn’t say equal <em> yet.”  </em></p><p> </p><p>“I- I didn’t think you’d ever have the attitude. Are you sure?” </p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Quackity tried not to snap at him. He didn’t want to be too serious and come off like he was playing. Schlatt seemed to believe him. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh? Oh, huh, I’m... surprised. Pleasantly. If you’re done being a fucking moron then fine. Alright, Quackity, all in.” </p><p> </p><p>He held out his hand. Quackity took it, shaking firmly. </p><p> </p><p>“All in, <em> partner?” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Sure. Parter. I have... some explaining to do, I guess.” </p><p> </p><p>“Great, then before we get started can you do one thing for me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh? A catch? You’re either better at this than I gave you credit for or are absolutely in over your head.” </p><p> </p><p>“Just... go to the damn hospital. You seriously look like shit.”</p><p> </p><p>“I-“ Schlatt genuinely stammered, caught off guard by the request. His stuttering broke into chuckling as he shook his head. “Alright. Alright, but first YOU have to do something for me.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Get drunk with me and start a fight.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh, <em> what?” </em></p><p> </p><p>“I’m gonna have to give an explanation or else it’s going to be real suspicious. Two idiots with alcohol blurring their judgment, letting their tempers flare, throwing a few punches, is as good an excuse as any. Plus this way nobody can pressure anybody about charges. We just both say it was in good fun and no one cares.” </p><p> </p><p>“Will that work? You look way worse than me though, I just have a split lip.” </p><p> </p><p>“Eh, say you won.” </p><p> </p><p>Okay. Quackity chuckled. Okay, so this was fine. He was going to be fine. He was going to be <em> better </em> than fine if he played this right. Just don’t think about anything too hard. Tommy was- no, don’t think about that. He was already in too deep anyway, he should just enjoy what he could. <em> Just try not to end up like Wilbur. </em> It would be fine. He wanted this. His heart would have to slow down eventually, right? He took a breath and smiled, his usual goofy, crooked, smile, and walked to the kitchen. It was time for a drink. </p><p> </p>
<ul>
<li>••</li>
</ul><p> </p><p>Tubbo jumped awake with a start. It was chilly and rickety, a muffled chugging sang in the background. It took him a moment for him to remember where he was, on a train, finally going home after visiting his village. It had been… interesting</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo never really cared about finding his parents, he didn’t think he needed them. He had Ranboo and Mr.Jordan and Tommy and Wilbur and Philza and- well, he had plenty of family. Besides, whoever his parents were, they left him in a box so… fuck them? </p><p> </p><p>Eh, he’d never really had it in him to be angry about it. His life was what it was. It felt strange whenever people found out and treated him with pity, as if he was some kind of anime protagonist who should have sworn a vow of vengeance over his oh-so tragic backstory. Yeah, it objectively kind of sucked but it’s not like he remembered any of the bad parts. It’s not like he thought any of his current loved ones would ever abandon him. In all honesty, he rather liked the life he had. </p><p> </p><p>Still, not being bitter didn’t mean he wasn’t curious. At around fifteen he was given the chance to do some family history and he took it. It was casual, more of a hobby than a hunt, but eventually, he managed to find some pretty solid results. It was mostly because he apparently came from a very specific lineage, if it was even a little bit broader there was little chance he’d be able to track it. </p><p> </p><p>Spirit channeling… it still felt a little strange to think. He rubbed the strange charm he’d been gifted. A Magatama, it was called. Filled with cold sand full of spirit energy. After sending a few letters back and forth, he had been invited to stay at a village specifically full of channelers for a while. </p><p> </p><p>It had been nice. Everyone was very kind and helpful and, although he hadn’t managed to do any channeling, he felt much more confident and professional. What he had been doing before felt a little silly now, like a child playing pretend rather than doing any actual practicing. The Mystics said it had been a good start (especially considering how limited his knowledge of everything was). It was like practicing holding your breath when you didn’t swim, not directly helpful in learning how but a useful skill to hone nonetheless. He had agreed to visit again and continue training but, for now, he was just excited to get home. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo stretched, sleeping on a train hurt his neck but it was so early he couldn’t blame himself. The sun wasn’t even up yet (although it was winter). He yawned and reached for his phone squinting at the brightness of his screen. He flipped the brightness down, plugging in some headphones and snuggling back into his seat. Oh, wait. He switched over to his messenger app and texted Tommy that he was on his way. He didn’t expect an answer, Tommy was probably still asleep. Actually, Tommy hadn’t been answering him since yesterday. Tubbo hadn’t texted too much because he’d been busy but it was strange Tommy hadn’t responded by now. Usually, he was so clingy. Hmm. Oh well, Tubbo could ask him in person in a few hours. </p><p> </p><p>He laid his head against the window and closed his eyes. Home soon. </p><p> </p><p>A buzzing interrupted his music. Tubbo’s eyes opened, annoyance dully glimmering on his face. Who was calling him? How? His calls were silenced and it was like 5:30 in the morning, wasn’t it? It- wait- that wasn’t his usual ring tone. Tubbo shot upright, fumbling to grab his phone and stare at the screen. An emergency call from Tommy. What? Why? What could he do? He wasn’t even in the city! Why was Tommy calling <em> him? </em> Why not Philza or Wilbur? Okay, okay, okay, it was probably a joke. Tommy had little regard for etiquette like that. Ignoring the whispers pointing out Tommy hadn’t answered his texts since yesterday, Tubbo answered.</p><p> </p><p>“Tommy? Are you alright?” </p><p> </p><p>There was nothing. No one was on the other end. Tubbo frowned, he could hear <em> someone </em> in the room. Some kind of faint noise or scuffle in the background. It didn’t <em> sound </em> like words but it didn’t really sound like anything. Nothing Tubbo could make out, anyway. Had… had Tommy called him <em> accidentally? </em>It was possible, he guessed. If the phone in his pocket somehow switched to the emergency contacts and then Tubbo’s name was hit? Yeah that must be-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> BANG </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A loud crack shot through his phone, fucking over his speakers and stinging his ears. He ripped out his headphones out of instinct. What… what the fuck? <em> What the fuck was that? </em> He starred at the phone in his hands, the call still going. The white background was mocking him. <em> Emergency, </em>it giggled. He hung up. </p><p> </p><p>Instantly, regret surged through him. That was <em> not </em> the correct way to handle that. Oh well, he tried to tell himself. Oh well, oh well, what’s done is done. It was probably nothing. He could ask them himself soon. He thought about calling Wilbur, having subconsciously eliminated the thought of calling Tommy back from his mind, but decided against it. It was nothing, after all. He didn’t want to wake anyone up for nothing. Instead, he just put on some happier music and closed his eyes, imagining what he and Tommy could do together once he got back. Go to the park, listen to Tommy’s discs, practice climbing…</p><p> </p><p>“Excuse me, sir?”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo sat up, rubbing his neck. An attendant was tapping his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re... Tubbo, right? Am I pronouncing that correctly? I believe we’re coming up on your stop, just wanted to make sure you didn’t sleep through it.”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo blinked, rubbing his eyes. Oh. Oh! He was home! He looked out his window, familiar city structures had replaced the plains and wilderness. They really were close. It was kind of strange to be surrounded by buildings again, he’d just barely gotten used to the openness of the village. A smile stretched across his face, it was already so nice to be home. He began gathering all his stuff, making sure he wouldn’t leave anything on board. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I am. Er- it is! Thank you!”</p><p> </p><p>“No problem. We double-check with all minors traveling alone.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Tubbo blushed a little. He was old enough to know better than to sleep through his stop. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, don’t feel bad. I used to all the time, going back and forth between my mother’s and father’s. Were you visiting family?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah- kind of. Distant.” Really,<em> really, </em> distant, if at all. “My real family’s here. I’m excited to see them again!”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, good luck,” the attendant smiled and walked back down the train car. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo pulled his stuff together just as the train pulled to a halt. He hopped up and shuffled his way down the car, his bag slung over his shoulder. It was still dark when he stepped onto the familiar platform of the train station, the sun was just <em> barely </em> peeking up on the horizon. He inhaled deeply. Home. Freedom. He knew this place, he could run right down to Tommy’s house if he wanted, but Jordan was supposed to pick him up at the station. Besides, he’d had enough new adventures for a while. He was ready to have some old adventures. </p><p> </p><p>The platform was empty. The station had a building with an inside waiting area but Tubbo chose to drop his bag on a bench outside. The workers were probably all tired as hell, early shifts and all that. Also, Tubbo would rather just sit outside. The morning chill was quite nice. He plopped down next to his bag and stretched out. He thought about pulling out his phone but didn’t know how long the battery would last (he forgot to charge it the night before he left and had used most of it up on the train) and wanted to keep it in case Mr.Jordan needed to call. </p><p> </p><p>It was quiet, a little windy but the scene was still. Tubbo clicked his tongue and waited… and waited. He checked his phone, it had only been like five minutes. Ugh. He sighed and laid his head back. This bench was uncomfortable. It was jagged, the seat was angled lankily and the back was too short. The village had a lot of uncomfortable benches too. He couldn’t wait to sit on <em> his </em> bench at the park. He couldn’t wait to see-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “TUBBO!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A voice screamed from a distance, it was desperate, chilling. A figure stumbled onto the platform, rugged and spastic and yelling, it grabbed Tubbo before he could make out anything about it. He tensed but the figure did nothing else, it only held him and shook. After he realized he wasn’t being attacked Tubbo took a moment to assess what the hell had just happened. He saw blond hair from a head buried into his shoulder and heard a familiar voice gasping and crying. His mind finally discarded the unlikeliness of it all and snapped to a solution.</p><p> </p><p>“T-TOMMY? What- how- what are you doing here?” </p><p> </p><p>“Tubbo…” Tommy sobbed, tightening his grip. </p><p> </p><p>“Shh, shhh, uh… it’s alright? It’s okay. I’m here,” Tubbo tried to be caring but couldn’t hide the confusion from his voice. “Here, uh, what’s wrong? Why are you here? Let me… let me see you.”</p><p> </p><p>He pushed Tommy back, giving himself room to look at his face. He was a mess. His eyes were sharp and wild, paranoid and scared. He was shaking as if he’d fallen into a frozen lake. His clothes were crumpled and torn, he had scrapes on his hands and face. Tubbo shoved conspiracy theories out of his mind and tried to focus on helping his friend, in here and now. He looked… absolutely broken. Questions, he had so many questions, but flooding him with them wouldn’t help. He needed to stay calm and focused.</p><p> </p><p>“Tommy,” he carefully kept his voice steady. “You’ve got scratches all over yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fell… when I was running… couldn’t stop… thought they were chasing me…”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo bit back another wave of questions; overwhelming himself or Tommy wouldn’t help.</p><p> </p><p>“We need to go clean you up. Uh, come inside the station. I’m sure the station master can help and we can call Wilbur or Phil“</p><p> </p><p>“NO! We have to- I have to- no… Wilbur’s… Wilbur is…“ Tommy choked. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay! It’s okay, let’s just go get help!” </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo once again tried to drag Tommy towards the doors of the station but his arm pulled taught as Tommy yanked himself backward. His hands flew up to his head, pulling at his hair as he hyperventilated trembling breaths.</p><p> </p><p>“Tommy?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Wilbur’s dead.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>What?</p><p> </p><p>“What?” </p><p> </p><p>“HE-“ Tommy cut himself off, whipping his head around to frantically search for something.</p><p> </p><p>“Tommy! You can’t just fucking say things like that! This- I-“ Tubbo began hyperventilating himself. <em> “This isn’t funny. </em> What is going-“</p><p> </p><p>“They’re looking for me. No way they just let me go like that. No way.”</p><p> </p><p>“TOMMY!” </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo’s hand flew up but he caught himself. No. What the fuck? <em> No! </em> Now was not the time to slap his friend! You don’t hit people who are freaking out. He knew better than to try to ‘smack some sense’ into someone having an attack like this. God, he needed someone to come smack some sense into <em> him.  </em></p><p> </p><p>“They’re coming… they’re coming… there’s no way…” Tommy continued to mumble, backing up until he was touching Tubbo. </p><p> </p><p>“Tommy, look at me!”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy didn’t look at him. Instead, he reached out and wrapped his hand around Tubbo’s wrist, gaze still shifting about wildly. </p><p> </p><p>“Tubbo…” he whispered like he was warning him of something.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe we should CALL THE POLICE?” Tubbo didn’t mean to shout but the panic was finally infecting him.</p><p> </p><p>“They’re looking. They’re out there looking  right now.”</p><p> </p><p>“OR PHILZA?” </p><p> </p><p>“I have to keep moving.” </p><p> </p><p>“Mr.Sparklez is coming to pick me up soon! He might even bring Ranboo with him! We can wait until they get here!”</p><p> </p><p>“Tubbo,” Tommy’s grip tightened like steel. “Tubbo! We need to move!”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “What?” </em>
</p><p><br/>
Without another word Tommy took off, yanking Tubbo into a sprint alongside him. His breath was already labored, hearing it made Tubbo’s lungs sting. He wondered how Tommy wasn’t coughing up blood. He didn’t think about why they were running. He didn’t think about where they were going. He simply let adrenaline course through his well-rested body as he trusted his best friend and <em> ran. </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>run boy run</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. House Of Gold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Philza returns Wilbur's beanie.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Cw - there is a body and blood in this chapter. Be safe.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Phil breathed in a deep breath of fresh air as he strolled through the city streets. It was a pale but bright day, a bit nippy and otherwise perfect. He could have just driven but what with everything going on he felt compelled to take advantage of the nice weather, Wilbur’s work wasn’t <em> too </em> far, anyway. He could do with a little walk. Well, a medium walk, about a 20-30 minute stroll. It was nice.</p><p> </p><p>The beanie he held worked as a sort of substitute for gloves against the chill. Phil twisted and turned it inside and right side out over and over again in his hands as he walked. He didn’t remember where Wilbur got this specific hat but he’d had it for a while. He had several hats (and beanies specifically) but it wasn’t strange for him to lose or misplace them. Phil didn’t really know, he never paid that much attention to such a trivial thing, but it didn’t exactly matter. Besides, Wilbur forgetting his hat gave him an excuse to go visit him (which gave Phil an excuse to take this pleasant walk). He closed his eyes and took another deep breath only to stumble over a toolbox. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey! Be careful!” A worker shouted.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, sorry.” </p><p> </p><p>Phil hurried around the scene, taking note of the damage. It seemed they were just clearing out branches and stones, things knocked over. There was a windstorm last night. Nothing terrible but a few tree limbs and such had caused some havoc. Fairly par for the course whether this time of year, it happens once or twice every winter, Phil didn’t give it another thought. </p><p> </p><p>He did take the time to let his mind wander over to his work. The day after tomorrow he’d walk back into his office and be a prosecutor again. Man. He wasn’t sure he was prepared. Well, he was perfectly ready, he wasn’t worried about anything, he just couldn’t believe it was time. It was simply a matter of having gotten so used to something being in the future you weren’t capable of understanding it would ever become <em> now. </em>He probably wouldn’t until it actually was. Oh well, it’s not as if he had anything to be concerned about. He wasn’t ill-prepared in his ability to work and he didn’t have any second thoughts about going back. It was exciting, that’s all. </p><p> </p><p>Phil got into the street Wilbur’s work was on. He was a little impressed with himself, he’d honestly expected to have taken a wrong turn or two but he’d managed to make it entirely on course despite never going this way without directions. He wouldn’t have minded taking a little longer on his walk. Oh well, fate was fate, he supposed as he turned into the alleyway. He’d never thought about it before but this was a strange place for a music shop. </p><p> </p><p>It was a strange place for <em> any </em> shop really, although maybe it was just the fact his store was the only one open in the alley. The empty buildings one had to walk past made for a strange atmosphere. Perhaps it was more an unfortunate spot than a strange one. It was more than a little inconvenient, he seriously doubted anyone would come in unless they already knew where the place was. As far as he knew they didn’t even have a website or any other form of advertising, it was a wonder how they could rack up enough business to stay open. Although, they <em> had </em> managed so he guessed he couldn’t criticize. Besides, Wilbur would have told him if he was ever worried about it going- </p><p> </p><p>Huh?</p><p> </p><p>Phil stopped. He was still a ways from the store but the details of the building had just come into view. He could make out the blinds and the sign and the door... was- was the door open? He resumed walking, a tad more hurried and purposeful. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, he wanted answers. He could get them <em> without </em> freaking out. Besides, there was always the chance... no, there wasn’t. The possibility his eyes had simply played a trick on him slipped away as he got closer. It was definitely open. Okay. His mind branched out having cut off the impossible path, reaching for different possible explanations, cataloging every minuscule slip of evidence he had. It was a talent he’d honed for a long time. Clear mind, objective thoughts, he was here for the truth. His job was to find and present answers, not a verdict. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t realize it at the time but was an arrogant mindset. A selfish lie to himself. To believe he was above situations in such a way, how he looked at them as nothing more than paper and data for his job, it was a coward’s shield. A shield that dropped and cracked when he was close enough to pull open the door. Suddenly answers didn’t seem so desirable.</p><p> </p><p>The lock was broken. The handle had been bashed in, leaving the door incapable of being shut. It was a really pathetic defense system, just a physical lock, but then again it was only a music shop. <em> A music shop his son worked in. </em> Still… still… it just a tiny music shop, he couldn’t blame them for not fortifying it. That begs the question though, who would break in? Why? As said before most people didn’t even know it existed. That might make it an easy target, even if not a very profitable one. If it was a robbery it probably happened at night when no one was there and there was always the possibility it wasn’t malicious at all, for all he knew it could just be an accident. He shouldn’t go around making accusations and conspiracy theories, he knew better than that. He should... he should just ask. That’s why he was here, wasn’t it? Talk to Wilbur. Return his beanie. </p><p> </p><p>Phil tucked back his tangled thoughts (it took more of a shove) and pushed the door the rest of the way open. It swung back easy and smooth on its hinges, he barely had to tap it. Something about the seamlessness of it set him on edge. There was nothing to do though, he only exhaled and stepped in. Slowly. One careful foot, like he was trying not to make a sound. His eyes flew around the room, almost glaring in their cautious curiosity. He took another step. A familiar scent made him wrinkle his nose, by his third step in it was pungent. Something about it teased his fight or flight response. It wasn’t exactly bad, just metallic and almost… poignant...</p><p> </p><p>Blood. It was the smell of blood. He didn’t register it at first because it was so... but why? Why was it so strong? </p><p> </p><p>There was a conclusion here his head refused to acknowledge. </p><p> </p><p>He kept walking, slow and blank-minded, towards the back. His grip on Wilbur’s hat fell so loose it nearly dropped from his fingers from just the swaying of his walk. </p><p> </p><p>There was no one in the front room. </p><p> </p><p>He kept walking, making his way to the back. He stopped thinking. He didn’t notice the smell anymore. He didn’t register himself stepping into the back hall. He doesn’t remember how he made it down the corridor or into the frame of the workroom. The single door on the left, the door left wide open.</p><p> </p><p>He stood there... and he stood there... and he stood there... not comprehending. Not feeling. Not thinking. </p><p> </p><p>He only saw the horror in front of him minutes (Or was it hours? Days? Seconds?) after it came into his field of vision. </p><p> </p><p>Even as his brain clicked on again he couldn’t process it. The only thing he could think, the only thing he could feel, was denial.</p><p> </p><p>No. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t remember walking over; he was simply next to it, blood on his shoes. He crouched down, eye level with the cor... the bo... the b... the <em> thing </em> he refused to see. The person that he couldn’t see. The person that was no longer there. The absence he couldn’t acknowledge but couldn’t refute. </p><p> </p><p>It was like he was in a photograph. Nothing moved, nothing changed, nothing gave him the sign of hope he was so very desperate for. He held his breath. He waited. Nothing. It was so... so still.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> No. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Phil carefully reached out and set a hand on its cheek <em> (his skin was so cold) </em> gently turning its head to face him. There was... nothing... the face, the eyes, empty. </p><p> </p><p>His mind went blank again. He reached out his other hand to caress its face, to hold it, to pretend that something, someone, was still there to comfort. </p><p> </p><p>A voice in the back of his mind whispered for him to stop, that he was messing up the crime scene, that he was tampering with evidence. He screamed in return. He cursed at its existence. He screeched back, how could he care about that when he was where he was? When what had happened that happened? How could he even think about <em> anything </em> like that when he was staring into the hollow eyes of his dead son-</p><p> </p><p>His son was dead.</p><p> </p><p>The fact finally sank in like a weight broken through ice over thick, ugly, mud. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur- no, Wilbur’s <em>body</em> was lying slumped against the wall. There was blood... there was so much blood seeping from its chest. It soaked its shirt and its coat and even the carpet around it. Phil squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to examine the wound, but the little he did see was already burned into his mind like a cruel scar. He didn’t get a good look, didn’t want to, he only saw a tear in the fabric and deep, dark red. It was enough, though. It was too much. </p><p> </p><p>He was going to be sick. He <em> was </em> sick. Clearly, he was sick and delirious and hallucinating. He could feel himself burning up, sweat beginning to dampen his clothes, and shakes overtaking his body. </p><p> </p><p>He was sick. </p><p>He was sick. </p><p>He was so, so, so, sick. </p><p> </p><p>He needed to get better. He needed to make it through this moment and feel better so all of this would go away. It would happen eventually, right? Moments like this seem to last forever when you’re sick. The pain, the nausea, they slow down time and- and... </p><p> </p><p>Phil opened his eyes. His heart didn’t jump or sink at the reality still in front of him. He didn’t feel anything, he couldn’t bear to. He still held Wilbur’s face. He st- his hands snapped back. He clutched them against his chest as though he’d realized he was touching a hot stove. Wilbur’s- <em> its </em> head clumsily dropped in a fashion that made Phil’s stomach churn. </p><p> </p><p>Why had he done that? Tears began to sting at his eyes. Why had he let go? He wasn’t surprised or scared, he’d just pulled away, why? He grabbed one of its shoulders and laid his head into the other. Burying his face into Wilbur’s coat, he could smell- underneath the stench of blood- something familiar. It smelled like a coat. A regular coat. A regular coat that brought back memories of Wilbur laughing and singing. </p><p> </p><p>Memories of when he never once had to think about seeing someone he knew, someone he loved, with empty eyes and cold skin. With arms, legs, a head, that would fall limp like a doll’s. He- He was being moronic. He wasn’t sick. He wasn’t hallucinating. </p><p> </p><p>His. Son. Was. Dead.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur. Wilbur Soot. Will. Wilby. He was dead. </p><p> </p><p>He was dead. He was dead. He was dead.</p><p> </p><p>Phil had a body in his hands. Phil had <em> his </em> body in his hands. </p><p> </p><p>He kicked away the nagging voice lecturing him about evidence and scooped up his son- what used to be his son- in a hug. An apology. Phil doesn’t remember when he started crying, but he wept. His arms shook and his knuckles turned white as he held onto a fucking corpse tighter and longer and more sincerely than he ever had his living son. </p><p> </p><p>Rage washed over him, drowning him, choking him in wave after wave of ire. Anger at himself. At Wilbur. At Tommy. At Techno. At Wilbur’s friends. At Wilbur’s boss. At Wilbur’s customers. At people who saw Wilbur walking down the street. At anyone who had ever stepped foot in this cursed fucking place. At anyone who had ever laid eyes on Wilbur happy or laughing or alive. Anger at himself. </p><p> </p><p>At himself. At himself. At himself.  </p><p> </p><p>Where was he?</p><p> </p><p>Where had he been the moment his child needed him the most?</p><p> </p><p>Where had he stood, slept, sat, whatever, as the light left his son’s eyes and all the breath left his lungs?</p><p> </p><p>His son had died. His son had <em> died, </em>where had he been?</p><p> </p><p>His son had laid, struggling for breath in a pool of his own fucking blood, and where was he?</p><p> </p><p>His son had been <em> murdered, </em> where-</p><p> </p><p>Phil stopped. </p><p> </p><p>He stopped breathing. He stopped crying. He stopped feeling.</p><p> </p><p>He pulled his head back from the coat and felt his eyes fall downward, glassily stopping at the gaping wound in its chest. He stared at him- at <em> it, </em> at the excessive blood staining everything around it, at the terror and sorrow and anguish plastered onto its face.</p><p> </p><p>His son was <em> murdered. </em></p><p> </p><p>A numbness darkly swirled in his heart as he stood up, gently letting the thing, the <em> husk </em> of what used to be his son, fall back to the ground. His legs were weak like he’d climbed mountains; nausea kicked at his stomach. He felt cold as his shirt and pants were drenched in blood but he barely acknowledged any of it as he stumbled. Stumbled out of the back, over the hat he couldn’t remember when he dropped, stumbled emptily towards the exit.</p><p> </p><p>His son was murdered. </p><p> </p><p>He had no idea how he could be so empty, so numb, and yet so stuffed full of seething white-hot wrath. He had no idea what he was going to do with everything inside him. He had no idea where he was going. He had no idea what he was going to do. </p><p> </p><p>The door was his only goal but it seemed years away, mocking him with pale winter sunlight shining onto an ordinary alley. An ordinary alley connecting to a normal city where everything was fine. It was just another day. The thought of stepping out into a world that didn’t realize or care what tragedy had taken place made his blood boil. There were people in the city, in the world, just going about their lives like everything was normal. He hated them. He hated every last one of them. He hated the idea of going outside and having all of this be pointless… to have all of it be real. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay in this awful moment forever if only to pretend it was a dream.</p><p> </p><p>What… what did he do? What <em> should </em> he do? Go outside? Then what? Where would he go? Just stay here forever like he wanted? He couldn’t. He didn’t want to stay here, he <em> wanted </em> this to all be a bad dream. Phil suddenly became aware of the reek of blood again. He stiffened, afraid to even look behind him in fear he’d catch a glimpse of the nightmare he’d just coddled. </p><p> </p><p>This… this was a nightmare but- he glanced to his side, not even daring to turn his head, and swallowed hard. This was not a dream.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes moved blankly across the room, not registering anything they saw until they landed on a bright blue phone behind the cashier desk. Blue phone. Phone. Call. <em> Call, </em>of course, that’s what he was supposed to do. Call. Call for help. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It was too late, there was no help.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Phil made it to the desk somehow. He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He reached out to the phone, hands shaking so much he had to dial ridiculously slowly in fear of pressing the wrong number. He weakly held the phone to his ear. He was so shaky. He quivered and shook and <em> hated it </em>but at the same time couldn’t find it in himself to care as the phone started ringing in his ear. He waited. He waited as it rang... and rang... and rang...</p><p> </p><p>He let this happen. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>It rang. </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Did he even know what he was going to say? If anyone picked up would he just stand there, stammering? He didn’t know. He didn’t know... </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>It rang.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>What <em> was </em> he going to say? What would he tell... oh god... what the hell was he going to tell <em> Tommy?  </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <b>It rang. </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy. Tommy, where was Tommy? Phil assumed he’d gone to meet Tubbo at the station. He’d said he would, hadn’t he? He had to be there, didn’t he? </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>It rang. </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Didn’t he?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>It rang. </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Something green on the floor crept its way into the corner of Phil’s vision. It had been there before but he hadn’t bothered to notice, being preoccupied with... with fear. Something small and round and shiny and familiar. A wave of dizziness swept over him. He faltered and shut his eyes. He refused. <em> He refused.  </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <b>It rang. </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Why? Why was it still ringing? </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>It rang.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>This was... no, this was too long, right? It was wrong.... wasn’t it? Why wasn’t he answering? Phil knew he wasn’t in the right headspace to comprehend, well, <em> anything</em>, but time especially. Still, it- it had to have been ringing for-</p><p> </p><p>The blaring of a message made him drop the phone. <em>Fucking hell...</em> He put his head in his hands and took a moment to try to calm down. His heart was pounding against his chest so hard it hurt. He needed to... ugh... he needed to... to... </p><p> </p><p>He took a breath, sharp but tenuous, and picked up the phone to dial again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hj-uiGfsyzo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Here and Now</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Technoblade gets a call from Phil.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Don't have much to say here, enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Some would say having potatoes for breakfast was strange. They were losers. Anyone who lives their lives so strictly confined to such pathetic, unspoken, unenforced, social rules as only eating ‘breakfast’ foods as breakfast was weak and would be crushed. Actually, Techno just liked to pre-boil and/or bake a bunch. It made it easy to simply pull out a container and eat. He’d add some flavor to it, maybe butter, sour cream, salt, pepper, garlic, gravy, paprika, beans, milk, hot sauce, whatever. It was also nice because he could do whatever he wanted, mix and match his heart’s desire. It was glorious food etiquette anarchy.</p><p> </p><p>This morning he was just eating them plain. He was tired and didn’t want to stomach a lot of flavors, he didn’t even heat it up. If Tommy were there he’d probably call it sad but Techno didn’t mind, he didn’t always eat for flavor, sometimes food was just fuel and he was fine with it. Not every meal had to be an occasion. Honestly, it wasn’t a terrible habit to be in. It made it easier to eat healthy more often and was probably cheaper too. It was only food. In a way, Techno thought everyone else was weird for making such a big deal out of every single meal they ever had. Eh, screw ‘em. It’s not like anyone was there to pester him about it now, or that he’d care if they were. </p><p> </p><p>He stood up and rinsed his dish out in the sink, yawning a little. He had not gotten a good night’s sleep despite how he’d slept in longer than he’d meant to, although it wasn’t like he’d wasted the day. It was still bright and early as he made his way to the bathroom. His reflection stared languidly back at him, his hair still up in the scrunchie he used to sleep. He took it out to begin the long (but honestly rather calming) processes of brushing and braiding his hair. A small smile snuck onto his face as it fell down to the cuffs of his pajama legs. He briefly mused about what the people in court would think if they ever learned this fearsome attorney slept in piggy pajamas his father had gotten him. It would probably be hilarious to see them scramble for some way to use <em>that </em>one against him. Meh, there was only so much he could care. (That’s to say, about zero.) </p><p> </p><p>Mmm, thinking of work... he didn’t technically go back until Wednesday, the day after tomorrow. He didn’t have any plans. He didn’t really have anything to do. Huh. One might expect him to just start working early but what would he work on? He didn’t have any cases lined up and going over rules and laws he already knew like he was in college wasn’t exactly appealing either. Again, huh. Boredom was not a conundrum he was used to facing, normally his mind had plenty to occupy his time. He was half expecting Wilbur to call with plans or something. </p><p> </p><p>Ah, shoot, Wilbur. He’d never gotten a chance to braid Techno’s hair last night. Wilbur loved helping Techno with his hair, he’d been ecstatic about it since they were boys. It was a funny secret talent for someone like his twin to have but he really was good at styling hair. He only ever did Techno’s though (and maybe sometimes Phil). Technoblade didn’t mind. In fact, despite how he made it seem like he was doing Wilbur a favor, he did kind of enjoy it himself. It was... nice. They didn’t have a lot of things to do together. They never really did, even as children they only got along because of proximity. Oh well, there would be other times. Technoblade finished tying up his braid and stepped out into the hall, heading back down to his room and flopping onto his bed. </p><p> </p><p>Being bored was strange. It was a habit developed by evolution. Stagnant creatures were more likely to perish so brains needed to be busy and stimulated almost always or else it thinks something is seriously wrong. Thus, boredom became a staple of every mind. The problem was, now humanity had largely outgrown the need for it. People don’t constantly need to worry about hunting or being hunted, they rarely need to worry about anything in terms of life or death! So, entertainment was created to fill in the gap. Technoblade was a very sustained man, he rarely found himself unoccupied, but now he needed something filling. Maybe he should do something for himself, go see a movie, take a walk, uh... what else did people do for fun? He was blanking. Wow. He couldn’t even think of ways to have fun. He felt kind of pathetic. No, no he didn’t, he was awesome. He rolled out of bed and stretched, pulling his arms and cracking his knuckles. He didn’t want to bother Phil too much, he did actually have to prepare for work sometime. Besides, Techno was still a little burned out from yesterday.</p><p> </p><p>No, he’d stay alone for today, take some time to cool off. You know what? He was going to work out. Yeah, that actually sounded nice. He’d exercise then take a shower and then a nap, and he’d start by getting dressed. He loved his comfy PJ’s but he also loved the fresh and productive feeling of putting on actual clothes. Not to mention he couldn’t very well get a good workout in these things, no matter how much he loved them. They were warm and soft which made them perfect sleepwear but rather sucky and sluggish in terms of heavy movements. He was halfway through changing his shirt when his phone started ringing. He held in a sigh, not really feeling like talking to anyone right now, and leaned over to see who was calling. He didn’t recognize the number. It was probably spam. He let it ring, ignoring it and continuing with his routine. </p><p> </p><p>He’d barely began his warm-up when he got another call. He let out a small growl of annoyance, giving the bag one solid punch out of frustration, before turning to check his phone again. It was another unknown number. He stared at it, pinching his finger, deciding whether or not to bother with answering. He studied the number. It didn’t look familiar. He tried to remember if he’d given anyone his number, he couldn’t think of anyone. If someone needed him for work they’d have called his office. He only gave out his personal number to clients he already had. The most likely explanation was this was another spam call- </p><p> </p><p>...And it stopped ringing while he was thinking to himself. Uh. Oops. Meh, whatever. Technoblade tossed it back onto his nightstand and turned to continue his round. </p><p> </p><p>Then it rang again. </p><p> </p><p>Okay. He unwrapped his hands and dropped the wraps onto the ground. This was something he needed to deal with. He picked up his phone and, just before he answered, caught a glimpse of the number. It seemed familiar now. Was it the name number as the last time? Was the first call the same too? It made sense, he guessed. He hit answer.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello?” </p><p> </p><p>“...Technoblade”</p><p> </p><p>Phil? PHIL? What was he doing? Where was he calling from? Techno suddenly felt terrible for not answering the first time. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Phil! I- uh- what are you doing? Do you need-“ </p><p> </p><p>“Technoblade,” he said again. His tone was... wrong. It was scratchy and dull, almost hollow. </p><p> </p><p>“Phil, are you okay? Where are you calling from?” </p><p> </p><p>There was no answer. It wasn’t that the line had died or hung up (Technoblade could hear Phil breathing on the other end) Phil just hadn’t responded. Techno didn’t like this.</p><p> </p><p>“Phil-“</p><p> </p><p>“Will’s dead.” </p><p> </p><p>What? </p><p> </p><p>“Wh- Phil?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m at his work.”</p><p> </p><p>“I- <em> are you alright?” </em></p><p> </p><p>No answer again. </p><p> </p><p>“Phil! <em> What?”  </em></p><p> </p><p>“Can you... help...”</p><p> </p><p>“I- y- anything! What do you need me to do?”</p><p> </p><p>“...I don’t know.” </p><p> </p><p>“Okay. Okay, it’s alright.” He swore he could hear Phil grit his teeth through the phone. “Just keep talking to me. Uhh. Are you safe?” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m... okay.” </p><p> </p><p>“Are the police there?” </p><p> </p><p>“No, I called you.” </p><p> </p><p>“Okay. Okay, you just stay where you are. Call them. I’m going to come to you, okay?” </p><p> </p><p>Silence. </p><p> </p><p>“Phil?” </p><p> </p><p>There was a quiet murmur of acknowledgment and then the soft beeping of a hung-up phone. </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade exhaled. Okay. Okay, this was- he was- okay. He needed to go. Go now. Out the door. He was moving. He hurried into his car. Okay. He’d never worried about where he lived before, he didn’t care. Yeah, he was a bit further away than the rest of his family but who cares? He was an adult. He was still fairly close, he lived in the same city as the rest of them. He could always get there when he needed, who cares about a few extra minutes of driving? He did. He did right now. Minutes. Sixty seconds. Sixty seconds in a minute, times two, times three, times four... <em> it was taking </em> so <em> long. </em> Did he even know where Wilbur worked? Had he ever been there? He- fuck, did he even know where he was going? </p><p> </p><p>Okay. He pulled over, a little more sporadically than he’d liked. Whatever. He could drive better later. Okay, Wilbur’s work. Okay. He had it written down somewhere, didn’t he? Yeah, yeah, at some point he must have gotten it. Wilbur’s been working there for more than five years.<em> (Over five years and he’d never once visited. When was the last time he’d done anything with Wilbur? Reached out? Talked just to him?) </em>Technoblade shuffled through the notes on his phone in his family folder. He had everything organized, it was just that he’d never needed this information before. Everything he used often he already memorized. Okay, okay, Wilbur’s work. Here it was. He was going. He’d get there. It would be fine. Okay. </p><p> </p><p>He needed to stop saying ‘okay’ or he was going to freak himself out. Repeating words never helped. Repeating words only made them lose meaning. Repeating- DAMN IT, he was doing it just then! Okay- <em>no-</em></p><p> </p><p>Oh, screw it. He was almost there anyway, wasn’t he? </p><p> </p><p>He parked before he turned into the street, taking a minute to breathe before stepping out of the car. A chilly wind nipped at him, catching him a little by surprise. It was cold outside. Techno hadn’t noticed before, he probably should have grabbed a coat or a long sleeve shirt but he couldn’t focus on that, he shouldn’t. He walked determinedly, perfect posture with his head held high, as though he was going before a judge. Professionalism was a rock. It was a solid foundation he could stand on to rise above panic and mistake, above emotions threatening to overtake him. He was in control. </p><p> </p><p>He was in control as he stepped onto the street and by police cars. He’d been around crime scenes before, it happened to every lawyer at least once or twice. Attorneys had an unspoken rule of leniency when it came to evidence so he didn’t meet with any resistance. Some of the officers recognized him, giving him a curt nod before returning to their duty. He nodded back, acting as though he was just here for another case, pretending this really was just another case. He was just looking for a witness. A witness he needed to talk to and get the story out of. Only, this time he needed to help them, to make sure they were safe and alright. He just- he shouldn’t be distancing himself this much. This wasn’t a  case, he wasn’t here to be objective, this <em> was </em> personal. This was his family. This was about W- this was Phil. He needed to focus on finding and helping him. As his son, not as his lawyer. </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade searched around, trying to keep his professional look up so he seemed he was meant to be there. He <em> was </em> meant to be there. He just felt stupid wandering about aimlessly. Anxiety... he... he... no. No. He steadied his breathing. This was a bad situation. He was allowed to feel anxious. It was good, even. An appropriate response. It meant his brain was working. It was a valid response and he was still in control. There was nothing to fight here. He just- Phil. Phil!</p><p> </p><p>Phil was sitting out of the way. He had a blanket draped over his shoulders. His hat laid low on his head, obscuring his face. Technoblade tried not to sprint as he rushed over, so happy just to see him. Phil didn’t acknowledge his presence as he stood over him. </p><p> </p><p>“Phil!”</p><p> </p><p>Nothing. </p><p> </p><p>“Phil? I’m here. Hey,” Techno spoke gently.</p><p> </p><p>He crouched down next to him and softly put a hand on his shoulder, quickly pulling it away as Phil jerked to the side, almost scowling. The small amount of happiness drained from Technoblade. Oh. Right, everything was awful. </p><p> </p><p>“...Phil?” </p><p> </p><p>“Why didn’t you answer?” he asked, staring straight ahead. There was a rage beneath his dull expression and tone that made Technoblade shiver, not the least because it was directed at him.</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“I had to call you three times. Why. Didn’t. You. Answer?” </p><p> </p><p>Techno was blindsided. He was not used to Phil being so short with him. Even when he had <em> really </em> messed up Phil was always very clear with his emotions. If he was angry he was clearly <em> angry, </em> if he was sad he was clearly <em> sad, </em> but this? Techno had no idea what to do with <em> this, </em> he didn’t even know what it was.</p><p> </p><p>“I- I didn’t recognize the number.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Phil only looked down, a coldness sewed into his gaze that almost felt… sarcastic. Passive-aggressive, even. </p><p> </p><p>Techno didn’t know how to deal with this. Phil was lost and hurt and broken and Techno didn’t know what to do or say or how to act to make it better. He was on the spot and Phil seemed almost angry at <em> him. </em> He knew he should keep talking, keep- keep <em> something.  </em></p><p> </p><p>“Why… why didn’t you call me on your cell?”</p><p> </p><p>“Didn’t think to.” </p><p> </p><p>Okay. Okay, now what? Technoblade bit his tongue. What the hell did he do now? He couldn’t- he couldn’t hug him or anything, Phil was too angry for that, but this didn’t seem like the place or time for the 'give them space' method either. Techno rubbed his neck, confused. He hated feeling useless, but he wasn’t one to give up and wallow in his own discomfort. He could solve this. There was a… there <em> had to be </em>an answer, a right thing to do, he just needed to figure it out.</p><p> </p><p>He took a second to look- really<em> look-</em> at Phil for the first time since he’d gotten here. Phil was… bad. Even without taking in his expression or voice, you could tell he was not doing well. </p><p> </p><p>He was hunched over, a shock blanket draped firmly around him (Techno got the sense he wasn’t really aware of it). His hands were together in a ball, knuckles white and fingers pink like they’d recently been harshly scrubbed. He was quickly tapping his ring over and over again, probably subconsciously. </p><p> </p><p>Okay, no answers there. </p><p> </p><p>Then Technoblade looked up, at his head, at his face. His hair was messy. He’d probably been fidgeting with it, running his fingers through it, pulling it, etc. but he now had his hat pulled tight over his head. That was good, unless one of the paramedics had bothered (which Technoblade doubted) it meant he’d been aware enough to consciously make the decision to put his hat on again. </p><p> </p><p>His eyes were dull. They blankly- no, <em> numbly </em> stared at his hands, where their gaze had been locked since Techno got here. If he looked closely he could see they were a little bloodshot, probably from crying earlier. </p><p> </p><p>Phil’s expression was… unreadable. One second it looked calm, one second it looked angry, one second it looked deep in thought, the next it looked full of the darkest wrath, and the next of deepest despair, all without ever actually changing. </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade’s frown deepened. He still didn’t know how to help and he’d hit a roadblock in his analysis. Phil needed him. Phil needed him right now but he-</p><p> </p><p>“Technoblade.” </p><p> </p><p>Phil’s sudden voice shot shivers up Technoblade’s spine, fire and ice were still strewn about it. It was angry and bitter and cold and apathetic and calm all in ways that didn’t seem like they could co-exist. </p><p> </p><p>“Y-“</p><p> </p><p>“Technoblade,” he interrupted to continue, harsher, but in an almost upbeat way like he was laughing at a cruel joke. “What are you doing? Why are you looking at me like that?”</p><p> </p><p>“I- Phil, I’m worried.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, about me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes! O-of course! What’s-“</p><p> </p><p>“Why.” </p><p> </p><p>Techno was taken aback by the blunt answer. This was weird. This was <em>wrong</em>. Phil’s tone reminded him of prosecutors when they were leading him into a trap. Sickly-sweet and disingenuous but condescending, usually a flimsy gate holding back a complete snap. Phil should not<em> ever </em>sound like that, but especially not… not here and now. </p><p> </p><p>“Sor- what?”</p><p> </p><p><em>"WHY?” </em> Phil snarled, his steady dull gaze, still fixed on his hands, suddenly sharp and… vicious. “Why? Why me? Why are you so focused on <em> me?” </em> </p><p> </p><p>“Because you-!” Technoblade started but was cut off once again.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“I don’t care what your damn excuse is, Technoblade.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Excuse? </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t fucking care how ‘worried’ you are for me or how ‘concerned’ or ‘scared’ you are for me because you. Should. Not. Care. Right. Now.”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade began to tear up inside. He could feel his panic beginning to spill outward. No. No, that wasn’t true. Phil deserved to be loved and cared for and worried over! He did! Techno couldn’t stand the idea anyone thought otherwise, the fact it was Phil himself saying those disgusting <em>lies </em>made Techno want to cry… he- he never cried…</p><p> </p><p>“Phil,” he tried to talk without his voice breaking. It came out raspy and unnaturally soft. It didn’t sound like him. He didn’t like it. “Phil, no-“</p><p> </p><p>“SHUT UP! SHUT. UP.” Phil finally tore his eyes away from his hands to glare at Techno, wild and hurt. He began to heave like he was out of breath. “You- you don’t even <em> care</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade’s throat closed, he opened his mouth but couldn’t get out a word. Yes, he did. He did! He cared about him! He <em> cared! </em>He did, he did, he did! He was sorry. He was so sorry. He just wanted Phil to be okay, he’d give anything to have him back to normal.</p><p> </p><p>“I just want you to be okay!” He squeaked out. </p><p> </p><p>For just a moment, only a split second, Phil’s face twisted into one of pure rage. His arm flew up, knocking the blanket off his shoulders. He held his hand in the air as though to strike but Techno didn’t even flinch, he was too busy staring at the bloodstains covering Phil’s clothes. The blanket had been hiding them enough he didn’t recognize what they were but now he couldn’t take his widened eyes off them. There was… so much… blood… all over him…</p><p> </p><p>Then he was back in the moment, about to be hit by his own grieving father, but Phil stopped. Of course he did, he was <em> Phil, </em> he had never hit Techno and never would. Technoblade didn’t know why he was so relieved; he was a full-grown man and Phil was exhausted, he could take a weak slap if it meant helping. </p><p> </p><p>Phil’s arms shook as he closed his still raised hand into a fist, anger melting into a tearful sorrow. Techno couldn’t help but understand it was still pointedly directed at him. </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t care.”</p><p> </p><p>Techno opened his mouth to argue again but shut it to let Phil continue. Now… now was not a time to fight.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t…” Phil’s voice cracked. He brought his hand down, resuming his position of staring at them. It didn’t hide the tears in his eyes that were so close to spilling over. “You don’t even care about them.”</p><p> </p><p>Technoblade’s mind stopped halfway through another ‘I <em> do </em> care.’</p><p> </p><p>…Them?</p><p> </p><p>“You haven’t even asked about them once. Not even when I called you. You haven’t- you don’t- I have no idea where Tommy is, if he’s even <em>alive</em>, and Wilbur… Wilbur…”</p><p> </p><p>Oh. Technoblade blinked. <em> Oh. </em></p><p> </p><p><em> “ </em> Will is dead. Wilbur is dead. Wilbur is DEAD,” he began to hyperventilate again, voice rising. “My SON is dead. Your brother- YOUR BROTHER, TECHNOBLADE. YOUR BROTHER IS <em> DEAD.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Phil grabbed Techno by the collar to yell in his face but it was just sobs. You could hear the sadness in his voice clearer than any actual anger, but it was sadness <em>at Techno</em>. He tried to grab and hold Phil’s hands together but a paramedic rushed over, probably after hearing all the commotion, and was already dragging him away to calm down.</p><p> </p><p>Even after Techno assured the paramedics he was alright and wanted to help he was shooed away. He understood, he guessed. He had to let them do their job. They were certainly better at it than him. Still, he tried to stay as close by as he could. He wanted to be alert in case he was needed but ended up quickly zoning out of the mumbles of reassurance from the paramedics. His mind buzzed around what Phil had said like flies around rotting fruit, smashing into false hopes of clarity until his own skull imploded. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur was dead.</p><p> </p><p>Techno took a shaky breath.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> His brother was dead. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He- he’d known that. Of course he had. He knew it from the moment Phil had told him over the phone. He believed Phil, of course he did. He just… he just convinced himself that was "later.” Later. That was something for later. </p><p> </p><p>Calling the police had been here and now. Getting in his car had been here and now. Driving had been here and now. Comforting Phil was here and now, but the actual death? Acknowledging it? Believing it? Accepting it? That was <em> later</em>. It had always been for later but… later was…. </p><p> </p><p>He’d… he’d <em>procrastinated</em>. He’d procrastinated as though he could keep Will alive until <em> he </em>was ready to face it. </p><p> </p><p>How could he do that? </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade swallowed. His ears began to ring. He- he’d really- how <em> could </em> he? What the fuck was wrong with him? He should- </p><p> </p><p>Focus. Focus. He needed to focus. He needed a goal, he could do anything if he just knew <em> what </em> he needed to do. Just focus, damn it! On what? Every option before him seemed miserable. Every issue he could think of had no solution. There was nothing he could do. His mind ran round in circles but any focal point he tried to land on repelled him like inverted magnets. <em> There was nothing he could do. </em></p><p> </p><p>Wilbur- no, nothing. Absolutely nothing. He was it was- no. Phil? That was his first instinct but clearly, that would make no real progress to the situation. Phil was fine, well, he was strong. He didn’t want any help. If Techno kept trying to help him things would probably just end up worse. Tommy- <em>Tommy...</em> where was Tommy. Last Technoblade had seen him he was talking about seeing Tubbo at the station. Tommy. Tommy was alive. <em>He didn’t know that. </em>NO! He shook his head, growling. He didn’t know otherwise, either. Tommy was a goal. Technoblade could help him. Information, whatever it may be, he could find that. He could do that. </p><p> </p><p>Technoblade could do anything. He’d make this better. He would. He could here and now. Here and now.</p><p> </p><p>Just stay here and now.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. The Bench On The Hill</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tommy and Tubbo regroup.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Whoah boy, it's been a busy day. Here's another chapter that got split up. So the next will be the other parts of this chapter (a part before and a part after) and then one more chapter after that and then I am going to take a break! Prepare how the trials are going to work out, plan how I'm going to convert the gameplay into writing, that's all really stressful so I'm going to take my time. In the meantime, enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Ran</b>
  <span>👁</span>
  <b>Boo</b>
  <span>👁</span>
  <b>]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Tubbo:</b>
  <span> Ranboo </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Ranboo: </b>
  <span>Tubbo </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ranboo:</b>
  <span> How’s it going!! </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ranboo:</b>
  <span> How was it?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ranboo:</b>
  <span> Are you on your way back now?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ranboo:</b>
  <span> The Captain left to pick you up a while ago </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ranboo:</b>
  <span> I was going to come but decided not to</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Tubbo: </b>
  <span>Ranboo listen  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Ranboo: </b>
  <span>Was it spooky? </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ranboo:</b>
  <span> Oh sorry </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ranboo: </b>
  <span>What’s up? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Tubbo:</b>
  <span> Can I borrow your portable charger? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Ranboo: </b>
  <span>Sure it’s in my top desk drawer </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ranboo:</b>
  <span> You can grab it whenever </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Tubbo: </b>
  <span>I mean now?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Tubbo:</b>
  <span> I can’t come home right now </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Tubbo: </b>
  <span>But my battery is low and I don’t wanna be stranded without a phone </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Ranboo: </b>
  <span>Uh </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ranboo:</b>
  <span> I’m not sure how I can?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ranboo:</b>
  <span> Aren’t you in a car rn? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Tubbo: </b>
  <span>No I’m on my bench  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Tubbo:</b>
  <span> You know the park with the big hill next to it?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Tubbo: </b>
  <span>You come here a lot too </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Ranboo: </b>
  <span>Yeah I know the one but </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ranboo: </b>
  <span>Why are you there? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Tubbo:</b>
  <span> I left before Mr.Sparkelz came </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Ranboo: </b>
  <span>???? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Tubbo:</b>
  <span> I didn’t want to! </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Tubbo: </b>
  <span>Exactly</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Tubbo:</b>
  <span> Something happened </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Ranboo: </b>
  <span>Tubbo please don’t be ominous </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ranboo: </b>
  <span>You know I don’t handle things like that well </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ranboo:</b>
  <span> Especially when I’m freaking out </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ranboo:</b>
  <span> And you’re freaking me out </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Tubbo: </b>
  <span>I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be vague</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Tubbo: </b>
  <span>I do want to be discreet though </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Tubbo: </b>
  <span>Mostly because I don’t really know what’s going on either </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Tubbo: </b>
  <span>Tommy met me at the station </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Tubbo: </b>
  <span>and </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Ranboo: </b>
  <span>Yeah? Please finish the sentence </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Tubbo: </b>
  <span>He’s freaked out so I came here with him </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Tubbo: </b>
  <span>Sorry I was panicking about what to say. my phone is really about to die </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Tubbo:</b>
  <span> If I stop responding that’s why </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Tubbo:</b>
  <span> So I can’t give you a full story </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Ranboo: </b>
  <span>That’s okay! Thank you for telling me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Tubbo:</b>
  <span> I don’t know how to summarize this </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Ranboo: </b>
  <span>Don’t worry about it </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ranboo:</b>
  <span> I’ll come give you the charger you can tell me then </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ranboo:</b>
  <span> Is there anything else you need? </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ranboo:</b>
  <span> Tubbo?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ranboo:</b>
  <span> Are you there? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo growled in frustration as his screen went black just before he hit send. Damn it! Couldn’t just one thing go right today? Ugh, okay. It was probably alright. He’d warned Ranboo his battery was low so he wouldn’t think he was ignoring him or anything. Ranboo would come here soon and everything would be fine then, right? </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>…Right? </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Of course not. Nothing was fine. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> was even slightly okay! Tubbo grimaced, hands gripping his dead phone so hard they shook. He continued pacing, back and forth and back and forth, practically stomping behind the bench. This was so surreal. All of this was just wrong. It was just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>UGH! </span>
  </em>
  <span>He threw his phone to the ground, not even flinching as it smacked against rocks hidden in the grass. It was probably cracked. It was probably broken. He didn’t fucking care. It was a stupid phone anyway, an awful, useless, odious, piece of shit that had forced him to hear- to hear… oh god, what did he do? How could he have hung- there wasn’t even anything he could have done! He was on a damn train in the middle of fucking nowhere! Why had Tommy called him? He squeezed his eyes shut and acknowledged the sound ring through his head. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BANG. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He mocked himself for jumping, for tearing out his headphones like not hearing it would make it better. </span>
  <em>
    <span>BANG. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wouldn’t it? </span>
  <em>
    <span>BANG.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wouldn’t this all be a million times better if he just had </span>
  <em>
    <span>no idea</span>
  </em>
  <span> what was going on? </span>
  <em>
    <span>BANG. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And wasn’t that such a selfish thought? </span>
  <em>
    <span>BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Over and over and over again it shot through his skull like a broken record stuck on the worst note of the worst song. He didn’t even know… there was still so much he didn’t understand. He didn’t know what happened. He didn’t really know anything, just that Wilbur was dead and Tommy was… well, he was fucking traumatized, surely. Yet at the same time, Tubbo knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>too much. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He knew far more than he ever wanted to, he was cursed with holding large pieces to a puzzle he never wanted to complete. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Was that even true? No. No, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to know everything he could. He wanted the whole story, the reasons, the method, the culprit. He wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill</span>
  </em>
  <span> the fucking bastard that did this to him, to Wilbur, to Tommy. He wasn’t going to take this lying down. He just… he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>believe this happened. He had to. He felt like he shouldn’t accept it so easily, like he was doing something wrong by affirming Tommy’s words, but he did. If he pretended nothing was wrong then nothing would be done and he had to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Anything. Everything! </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Tubbo…” Tommy murmured from the bench. It was quiet, almost inaudible like he didn’t actually mean to say anything. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo instantly cooled himself down, placing his ire on a back burner and turning to look at his friend. Tommy wasn’t facing him, instead he was only glassily staring at the scene below the hill. The playground and park itself were on high grounds, up the mountains on the edge of the city. It was a bit of a hike to get to but that’s what made it so special. Only a few people ever came here. A couple of kids from the orphanage, a few teenagers, a few college students, but all only if they were willing to make the trek. Ranboo and Niki would play here a lot when they were younger but not since Ranboo had largely outgrown playgrounds. As in, he was literally too tall to use any of the equipment. Tommy and Tubbo never outgrew it though (and probably never would) because they didn’t come here for the playground. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They came here for the bench. They would spend entire days just hanging out and staring at the city beneath them. Often Tommy would take his record player and they’d listen to his discs for hours. It was always a safe and pleasant place, </span>
  <em>
    <span>their </span>
  </em>
  <span>place. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe that’s why and maybe that’s how Tubbo had managed to convince Tommy to come here. It had taken Tommy keeling over and vomiting to get him to stop at all. Even then, he barely listened to what Tubbo had to say, he just wanted to run, to run fast and hard and far away from people he didn’t know were chasing. Tubbo honestly wondered if Tommy really believed anyone was after him, if maybe his plan was just to run until he dropped dead. Given the situation… it was probably an appealing option. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo shook his head, he didn’t want to think about that, even inadvertently. The important thing was he had convinced Tommy to run </span>
  <em>
    <span>here.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was pretty far from the station so Tommy had plenty of time to tire himself out, by the halfway point he’d given into walking, by the time they arrived he’d collapsed. After making sure he was okay (well, “okay”) Tubbo had just hung around until it snapped in his brain he should tell somebody. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><span>His first thought was to call someone, Mr.Sparklez, Mr.Philza, the </span><em><span>police, </span></em><span>but… as he looked at Tommy curled up on the bench he found he couldn’t. He didn’t know what the right thing to do was, he’d never had to make any decisions like this before, but right now things were calm. He didn’t know exactly what would happen when all the adults got put in charge again but he did know it would be </span><em><span>busy. </span></em><span>He’d probably be in trouble,</span> <span>Tommy would get taken away, everyone would be berating them with question after question after question. Right now was calm. Right now they could rest and really… that’s what Tommy needed, wasn’t it? </span></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>have gone to the police or his dad, but he’d gone to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tubbo. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’d trusted him. Tubbo didn’t know what he was doing but he didn’t want to mess that up. He was already going to be in trouble anyway, he might as well stretch out this moment and let Tommy breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he needed to tell some authority at some point. There wouldn’t be any problem if his phone hadn’t been so close to dying. He’d asked Tommy if he could use his phone but the question seemed to really upset him, he started violently fidgeting and murmured something about Wilbur. Tubbo decided not to press the issue. So, he did the only thing he could think of. He texted Ranboo. Tubbo trusted Ranboo, he hoped Tommy did too. They were all friends, he didn’t think Tommy disliked Ranboo or anything, but Tommy also liked his dad and Mr.Sparklez and was pretty adamant about not telling </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>when Tubbo suggested them. Now Ranboo was supposedly on his way with his charger… which wouldn’t do much good if Tubbo’s phone was broken, he realized. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He snatched it off of the ground, sighing in relief to find it still displayed the out-of-battery symbol when he held the on button. Now he just had to wait- </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh… hey… guys?” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo jumped ten feet at the sound of Ranboo’s voice. Holy </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He always had a way of sneaking up on people, even when he really, really, wasn’t trying to. Sometimes Tubbo swore he could teleport. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah… hi Ranboo!” Tubbo called, a little too cheery. He didn’t know why he was trying to act like nothing was wrong, Ranboo already knew things were bad. Maybe it was more for Tommy’s sake than his or Ranboo’s. Tubbo found himself glancing behind to make sure Tommy wasn’t upset by Ranboo’s presence. He didn’t seem to notice (or maybe he just didn’t care?)</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Um. I have my charger here. I also brought some gummy worms! I- uh- don’t know if you need any but you said Tommy was upset? So… I- I thought some snacks might help.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Ranboo,” Tubbo gave a weak but genuine smile, melting a little as his phone began to charge. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been until he was given an excuse to relax, small as it was. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem! Now- I-“ Ranboo kept peering over his shoulder, staring at Tommy slumped on the bench. “Is Tommy… okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, he’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I… talk to him?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“NO,” Tubbo snapped a bit too quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Tubbo,” Ranboo pleaded “Please, just- </span>
  <em>
    <span>what is going on?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo opened his mouth but snapped it shut. What </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>going on? What was he doing? What should he tell Ranboo? What could he? He wasn’t qualified for this… for </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> of this. He just wanted everyone to be safe. To be </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay </span>
  </em>
  <span>but that ship had clearly fucked off to sea already. The only thing he could do was try and stop things from getting worse. Tommy just needed a break, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>just needed a break. He wanted right now to stay right now because right now was </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It wasn’t good, but it wasn’t worse. It was a break. A straight path on a rollercoaster that was about to get way bumpier. Sure, there would be ups alongside the downs but both would make people sick. It was just too much, he didn’t want to face it. Was- was he doing this for Tommy or for himself? Was there a difference? Tubbo turned to look at Tommy again. He hadn’t moved, still slumped in a crumpled, motionless, mess on the bench. So small and still… it didn’t look right. It put a stone in Tubbo’s throat, suffocating him, choking him. He… he couldn’t- he didn’t-  he- he- h- </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He tensed as a hand grasped his shoulder, softly but firmly. It was steading. Tubbo took a deep breath, turning back to Ranboo, seeing his gaze was still quizzical but laced with concern instead of curiosity. Tubbo inhaled again, this time slowly, controlled. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Ranboo… I don’t know. I don’t know what the right thing to do is, if I’m really trying to help or just being selfish, but I just need- I just want a little time, you know? Before shit hits the fan. I’m…” he trailed off, staring at their shoes. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure you’ll find out. I’m sure no one will be able to shut up about it,” he sourly murmured, hating hundreds of imaginary gossipers, whispering and pointing at him and Tommy.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I… um…. I guess I’ll find out then? Oh! Uh, here! The gummy worms. I- I don’t know how much they’ll help but-“</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Ranboo,” Tubbo laughed, even though he did not feel like it. “I- could you… not tell anyone about this?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo hated asking Ranboo that. Ranboo had always had a reputation for being something of an anti-tattletale; he never told on anyone. For anything. Tubbo was pretty sure it wasn’t intentional, he probably just didn’t know when something was quote-unquote ‘wrong’ or he forgot, but it felt nasty to demand his silence outright. He felt like he was using him. He knew that was a dumb way to feel, Ranboo was the same age as him. If he decided to help Tubbo then that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>choice, it wasn’t even a bad thing to ask! …Was it? God, was he even doing the right thing?</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ugh, he was sick of that question invading his mind. To </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> with ‘the right thing!’ He was doing what he could, he was trying his best. That could be enough for now.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I… okay,” Ranboo nodded, clearly still confused but willing. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo gave a half-hearted wave to say goodbye. Before he turned to leave though, Ranboo tentatively wrapped his arms around Tubbo. It was awkward and unnecessary but very welcome. The hug was quick and loose, Tubbo found he both wished it lasted longer and felt took up too much of his time. When it was over and Ranboo had left down the hill and out of sight, Tubbo sighed, holding his face in his hands. He didn’t know what he was doing. He walked over to Tommy, who still hadn’t moved, and plopped down next to him. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, big man… how are you? Doing any better?” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy didn’t give an answer. Tubbo honestly hadn’t expected one. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“We can stay here for as long as you like…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>But they were going to have to go home at some point. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy shifted, bringing his knees up to his chest. “What did Ranboo want?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Tubbo stammered, he didn’t think Tommy would talk to him, not for a few days maybe. “He was letting me borrow his charger. My phone died.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably because you threw it.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah… I…”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay. You’re mad.” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at you!”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I don’t have my phone. I know you needed it… now you had to bother Ranboo.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no! Tommy, Ranboo is happy to help!” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They sat in silence for a moment, Tubbo staring at his hands and Tommy at nothing. It was cloudy. Tubbo couldn’t tell what time it was but he guessed it must be around the middle of the day. After all, he’d arrived around seven am. How long had he been out with Tommy? How long had they been running? How long had they been at the bench? Altogether it felt like only a few minutes. His mind had compartmentalized it all so neatly, so tightly packed, it all just… happened. Tubbo leaned back, staring up at the grey sky. He hoped it didn’t rain. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He hoped… Tubbo felt his lip begin to quiver. Were his eyes stinging? Why? Why now? It just… holy fuck… Wilbur was </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Why was he trying to hold back? Why was he stopping himself from crying? It was awful. He gritted his teeth so hard he felt he might shatter his jaw. It was all so awful. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy,” he whimpered, tears streaming freely down his face. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tommy hissed, almost angry but too dull to really be described that way. “Don’t start with that. You didn’t do anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I- I- I hung up. You called me and I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>hung up! </span>
  </em>
  <span>E-even if there’s nothing I could have d-done I shouldn’t hav-“</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Tubbo, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what the fuck are you talking about?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I didn’t even have my phone! Wilbur took it and-“ Tommy choked, covering his mouth as if he was ashamed to have spoken so plainly. “He- he… he never gave it back.” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo understood Tommy’s distress. Never meant… </span>
  <em>
    <span>never… </span>
  </em>
  <span>but- wait- if Tommy didn’t have his phone. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Then who called…”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“On… on the train ride home, I got a call…” Tubbo’s mind was blaring, his eyes rapidly shifted back and forth, sifting through imaginary answers. He could feel his breathing quicken. His hands began to grasp at his chest, flighting off a choking assailant that was not there. “Did… did </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur </span>
  </em>
  <span>call me? </span>
  <em>
    <span>WHY? </span>
  </em>
  <span>I- I-“ </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Tubbo?” Tommy had a hand on his back, slowly rubbing circles. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered in a tone that was dry as dust but dripped heavy with certainty.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><span>“You don’t understand I- I </span><em><span>heard-</span></em><span> oh, god…</span> <span>I- FUCK!</span> <span>What am I doing? I’m supposed to be helping </span><em><span>you. </span></em><span>I- I’m so sorry Tommy. I just-”</span></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It doesn’t matter,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tommy’s voice was hollow but… sharp, spiked with hatred and spite. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“…You know who did it, don’t you?” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy nodded, still not looking at Tubbo. Then he paused and shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t… </span>
  <em>
    <span>see </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. I know… who was there… but I don’t know who to blame. I don’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>they- I don’t know what to think. One… one </span>
  <em>
    <span>helped</span>
  </em>
  <span> me but- I mean I- I- at the same time h- they-“ Tommy fumbled. He closed his mouth, probably biting his tongue, trying to straighten out the knots it had ties itself into.. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
Tubbo gently laid his hand on Tommy’s back, making it so they were kind of side-hugging. They sat there together, a single hand on the other, just making sure they were still there. They cried, quietly. Just simple tears for an easy, impossible, situation. Was it a question? Was it a problem? Whatever it was, it <em>was </em>and there was nothing they could do to change that. So, they did what they <em>could.</em> They sat together, silently cursing it. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. It's Alright To Be Worried</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Niki finds out, Ranboo doesn't.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Uh, I really have nothing to say but the next chapter will probably also be late because it will be LONG. Please enjoy! sorry.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A bagel in hand, Niki stepped in a rhythm, playing with the pattern on the sidewalk as she walked. It had been a bit of a surprise to see Puffy come in but Niki <em> did </em> work at the best bakery in the city. She knew better though, her girlfriend had simply wanted to hang out. Lucky for her, it was right at Niki’s break. (Actually, luck probably had nothing to do with it.) Point was, she was currently having a nice little stroll around the park while she ate, enjoying Puffy’s story.</p><p> </p><p>“Anyway, that was the last time I trusted anyone to bring their own alcohol onboard. It’s completely banned now, along with ducks.” </p><p> </p><p>“Wow,” Niki took another bite of her bagel, “ships are a lot more dangerous than I- wait, <em> ducks? </em>I mean, I can see why but that’s oddly specific.” </p><p> </p><p>“That’s a different story,” Puffy laughed. </p><p> </p><p>“We’ve got time!” </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, well, it’s an embarrassing story.” </p><p> </p><p>“Pfft, tease.” </p><p> </p><p>Puffy snickered. The two continued in silence for a moment, enjoying the chilly weather. A police car drove past, its sirens on. </p><p> </p><p>“Mmm, where do you think they’re going?” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, who knows,” Puffy shrugged. “There’s a million possibilities. Some of them funny, some awful, most are fairly mundane.” </p><p> </p><p>“Mundane like mundane or mundane like for a police officer?” </p><p> </p><p>“Both, either. This city is pretty safe. It doesn’t really matter though, I am off duty. Officially. No canceling plans eighty times in a row.” She teasingly bumped Niki’s shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>It was Niki’s turn to laugh. “Hey, but we did it! Finally made it out to the gardens.” </p><p> </p><p>“And it was <em>amazing. </em> They were beautiful! I was expecting it to be overpriced but it was worth every cent. I mean, just those jade vines,” she gave a chef’s kiss. “I don’t even know how they get them to grow in this climate! I know it’s all indoors and artificially controlled  but still.”</p><p> </p><p>“You know, was kind of surprised. You didn’t strike me as a green thumb type but you’re a flower <em>nerd. </em>It was like watching a puppy run around a farm.” </p><p> </p><p>“I love plants. Honestly, my dream job would be to run a flower shop or something.” </p><p> </p><p>“That sounds really nice! I like my bakery but if it ever doesn’t work out maybe we could go into business together.” </p><p> </p><p>“Maybe it could be our retirement job? Although, it might be bad business for you to work there.”</p><p> </p><p>Niki stopped. “What?”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, it just wouldn’t be fair to the customers? How are we supposed to sell them on the idea of these <em> supposedly </em> beautiful flowers when everything pales in comparison to you?” </p><p> </p><p>“I- you-“ Niki burst out laughing, planting a kiss on Puffy’s cheek. “I should’ve known that was a setup.” </p><p> </p><p>“Everything I say is a setup. Everything.”</p><p> </p><p>“You know you could just <em> ask </em> for a kiss?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not as fun-“ Puffy was cut off by her phone ringing. “Oh, what is... hold on a minute, Niki.” </p><p> </p><p>Niki waited patiently as Puffy answered, finishing off her bagel and moving to throw away the wrapper. When she got back it seemed like Puffy was arguing with whoever was on the other end. </p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean a favor? I don’t want a favor! ...Hbomb, I am off duty. I’m with Niki right now, I- what?” Her tone changed from annoyed to analytical. “I don’t... are you sure? ...alright, I’ll ask. Yeah... You too. Thanks.” She clicked off her phone, a grim look painted over her face. </p><p> </p><p>“What was that about?” Niki asked, making her jump a little. </p><p> </p><p>“...Niki,” Puffy began after a pause, cautious as if she wasn’t going to finish her sentence. </p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong?” </p><p> </p><p>Puffy motioned for her to sit down on a nearby bench. She obliged, a little ticked off by the theatrics, but trusting Puffy was doing it with her best interests in mind. She just wished she got an answer right then. She didn’t like the look on Puffy’s face or this sudden shift in tone. She didn’t like having eggshells placed around her.</p><p> </p><p>“That was Hbomb. He’s... using a bit of a loophole. You see, we aren’t technically allowed to disclose information like this but he figured you’d rather hear it from me so he called to ‘discuss some information with his superior officer’ but was pretty clear he-“ </p><p> </p><p>“Disclose what? Puffy, what is going on?” </p><p> </p><p>“I-“ Puffy brought a hand up over her mouth, avoiding Niki’s gaze. “I hate doing this. It’s the worst part of the job and you never get used to it. Niki, I hate this. I hate doing this to <em> you </em> but H is right, it’s better you hear this from me.” </p><p> </p><p>“Hear <em> what?” </em> Niki was getting angry. It festered inside, conveniently eclipsing her anxiety. She knew something was wrong. She knew this was bad news. She just wished Puffy’s would <em>spit it out already. </em>She didn’t need to be babied nor patronized. </p><p> </p><p>“Niki, you’re friends with a Wilbur Minecraft, right?” </p><p> </p><p>For a split second, Niki was flooded with confusion. It was just the slightest hope it was a misunderstanding, just the briefest flash of unfamiliarity before she let her mind correct itself. Soot was his <em>middle </em>name. But- no- that still couldn’t be right. Nothing could have changed that fast. This wasn’t anything. She’d <em>just </em>talked to him yesterday and everything was fine. Everything was normal. The air around Puffy was so sour, she knew something had shifted dramatically.</p><p> </p><p>She nodded before she could allow herself any more denial. </p><p> </p><p>“And his younger brother? </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, Tommy.” </p><p> </p><p>“Alright,” Puffy took a deep breath. “Niki, I’m so sorry. This is going to be hard to hear...” Puffy tenderly held out her hand. Niki took it. </p><p> </p><p>She sat there, listening. The message felt like it took up hours even though Puffy had very little to say. Maybe two or three sentences, that’s all it was. That’s all it took. It was awful how she didn’t hear anything. How she immediately began to rationalize and hold back. How she thought: it didn’t <em>really </em>affect her. She still had her job, her girlfriend, her life. Eret, Fundy, and her could take the council seat themselves. Everything would go on. It didn’t matter... but it <em>did. </em> She mentally smacked herself. This was her friend. This <em>did </em>hurt, even if it didn’t feel real. She closed her eyes and heard every word Puffy had spoken. Wilbur. Tommy. Dead. Missing. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Missing.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Niki’s eyes shot open. </p><p>She knew Tommy. She knew Tubbo. She knew Ranboo. She’d been around them plenty, she’d played with them when she was a teen and they were kids. Ranboo was like a little brother to her... he was Tubbo’s roommate... and Tubbo was Tommy’s best friend. She remembered watching them play while she and Ranboo hung out. It was their favorite spot. </p><p> </p><p>“Puffy.” Niki took her head off her shoulder, not remember when she’d laid it there. “Puffy, I think I might know where Tommy is.”</p><p> </p><ul>
<li>••</li>
</ul><p> </p><p>Ranboo wasn’t a very nosey person. He didn’t get involved in a lot of drama or gossip, when it was right in front of him he usually just looked the other way. It was awkward, sometimes comical, but polite. Even when he was curious he couldn’t bring himself to get involved, he was simply not good at being intrusive. The polar opposite of Tommy, Tubbo always joked. This made him a very likable person, especially around the orphanage, but it also got him in trouble. Ever since he was little he had conversations upon conversations upon interrogations about why he didn’t tell anyone. </p><p> </p><p>Why hadn’t he told anyone when he saw that girl take more than one treat in kindergarten? Or when those boys were sneaking off during reading time in fourth grade? Why did he keep his mouth shut when he saw the older kids sneaking cigarettes? Why didn’t he say anything when Tubbo would mess around with old electronics he’d found (or stolen)? Even if he knew none of it was safe? </p><p> </p><p>In all honesty, because no one asked. He just... didn’t think to bring anything up to people, especially adults, unless they directly told him they wanted to know. He had a hard time telling what was important. A lot of the time he just forgot anything even happened. Point is, he’d never really consciously made the decision to hide things. He’d never actively been an accomplice. He’d never had to be, never even thought about it before. He had a rule that was very easy to follow, if nobody asks then nobody cares and it’s fine to just be quiet. If they do ask (and he remembered) then he’d tell them. It was very simple and everyone seemed to be happy with it. </p><p> </p><p>So why here, why now, did that seem like such a bad idea? Nobody had asked... well, nobody had asked <em> Ranboo, </em>but the question hung in the air for anyone to grab. He could feel it in the air from the moment he’d come back from seeing Tubbo in the park. It was baiting him like a worm on a hook to a fish, wriggling, squirming, and for the first time in perhaps his whole life Ranboo wanted to snatch it. </p><p> </p><p>He pulled out his phone but immediately set it down on the bench. He twisted his hands together tightly, caught between the choice of going up to Mr.Sparkelz and saying something or slinking back to his room. He didn’t know what to do so for the moment he chose neither. However, this was a timed option and he’d already sat fidgeting for far too long. How had he gotten wrapped up like this? He just wanted to make everyone happy but how to do that seemed so conflicting. On one hand, Tommy and Tubbo were clearly trying to be subtle about <em>something</em>, but on the other Mr.Sparkelz was freaking out! Well, he was upset at least. Kind of. Okay, he was actually pretty calm but, still, Ranboo could help him! He just wanted to know where Tubbo was... and he deserved that, didn’t he? Was Ranboo doing something wrong by staying quiet? </p><p> </p><p>He let out a small screech in frustration. He was very vocal when he was stressed, like when he was forced to make eye contact even though everyone knew it made him uncomfortable. Apparently, it was pretty disturbing when he did screech. Knowing that about anything else would make him self-conscious but if it got to the point he needed to make sounds he was probably at the point he didn’t much care. He was at that point right now. It was just so frustrating! He didn’t know what to do. If he told Mr.Sparkelz would that be betraying Tubbo? If he kept his mouth shut would that be like lying to the Captain? He’d rarely been so aware of these situations, usually, everything was so simple because he was just ignorant. A part of him wished he’d just forgotten this whole thing. He growled again and wrung his hands even tighter. He needed to pick something up, something heavy, just to have something to hold. He- uh oh. He felt Mr. Sparklez’s eyes lock onto him, concern tainting his face. He lifted a hand to acknowledge Ranboo’s frustration, as if to say ‘hold on, I’m coming to help you.’ </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oops.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ranboo but his tongue, he knew he shouldn’t be negative to himself about it, it wasn’t exactly voluntary, but he wished he had been quiet. If he was audibly upset of <em>course </em>Mr.Sparklez would notice and try to help.</p><p> </p><p>“I hope he’s just run off, he probably has. Only... yeah, as I said, he left his bag at the station... Okay. Thank you, sir.”</p><p> </p><p>Mr.Sparklez hung up the phone, taking a second to run a hand up his face before turning to Ranboo. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey buddy, what’s up?“ </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo opened his mouth and froze. What should he do? He’d promised Tubbo he wouldn’t say anything but he couldn’t just say nothing! Lying wasn’t an option either, even if he was willing to he wasn’t any good at it. He was taking too long to respond, he needed to say something. Uh. He mouthed some nothings, trying to jumpstart his voice, but no words came out. Ranboo awkwardly clamped his mouth shut and slowly shook his head, internationally cringing at the botched interaction.</p><p> </p><p>“No? No what? Do you not want to talk? It’s okay.” </p><p> </p><p>“Ah... I don’t wanna bother you... It’s fine.” </p><p> </p><p>“Aw. Ranboo, it’s okay. I’m not busy. There’s nothing I can really do right now but wait.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait for what?” </p><p> </p><p>“Uh,” his tone was cautious like he was trying not to decide how much to say. He was probably trying to overload Ranboo with new problems, which was kind, but Ranboo already knew more than him. “A police officer is coming down.” </p><p> </p><p>Oh. </p><p> </p><p>“For Tubbo?” </p><p> </p><p>“Uh, yeah we’re- is that what’s stressing you out? You’re worried about Tubbo?” </p><p> </p><p>“...Yeah.” It wasn’t a lie. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Mr.Sparklez sat down next to Ranboo, leaning back and stretching, making a show of relaxing. “That’s alright. I won’t tell you to calm down or stop, it’s okay to be worried. But, in all honesty, I’m sure he’s fine. He’s- well, he’s Tubbo. This isn’t exactly out of character. He knows better than to ditch but this wouldn’t be the first time something like this happened. I mean, you guys aren’t children anymore. You’re old enough to get a license, you can walk where you want. You’re <em> supposed </em>to check in with us first but even that’s pretty lenient at this age. Usually, I’d wait a few hours before even getting worried. The only reason it’s such a big deal is that he’s been gone for a few days already, out of the city. He’s got an inclination for chaos. It’s just... better safe than sorry, y’know? Also the law. It’s literally my job to know where you are so...” he trailed off, flashing a goofy half-apologetic grin that made Ranboo smile, in spite of himself. </p><p> </p><p>“He’s gonna be in a lot of trouble, huh?” </p><p> </p><p>Mr.Sparklez shook his head, humorously exasperated. “As I said, he’s Tubbo.” </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo smiled, much calmer than before. It was funny how much The Captain was able to help even though he didn’t know what was really stressing Ranboo out. In the end, it was on Tubbo and Tubbo knew that. He knew what he was getting into, he knew it would be his fault. That’s why he’d asked Ranboo at all. He wouldn’t have tried to make him take the blame for anything. It was really okay. Ranboo opened this mouth to say thanks but was interrupted by a knock on the door and Mr.Sparklez standing to answer it. To Ranboo’s surprise, Niki’s girlfriend stood in the doorway. It made sense he guessed, she was a police officer, an officer was supposed to come here, but that was fast. She wasn’t wearing a uniform or anything but Ranboo didn’t know much about when or how that mattered. </p><p> </p><p>Not wanting to bother them he stood up and left out the side door, buzzing as the cool air nipped at him. He was glad he’d talked it out, he was much more at ease. Despite the cold and clouds, it was a nice day out. Maybe he should take a walk. He didn’t think he had anything to do today. Then again, he didn’t trust himself to remember that. He kept lists in his phone to remind himself of things for cases just like this but... as he reached for his phone he found he felt nothing but his pocket. Uh oh. He patted himself down a few more times to be sure and sighed. He didn’t remember when he last had it. He guessed the only thing to do was to retrace all his steps he DID remember, starting with where he just was. </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo opened the door to the office and poked his head in. Mr.Sparklez was standing off to the side with Niki’s girlfriend (Puffy, right?). He felt guilty interrupting but who knows how long they’d talk? He didn’t want to hover around for too long, that would be even more intrusive! Better to just ask and get out quick. He stepped inside and let the door shut loudly behind him, drawing attention naturally. They both looked over without seeming bothered. That was good. </p><p> </p><p>“Uh. Hi,” he cheerily murmured, giving a small wave. “I’m back again. Captain, have you seen my phone?”  </p><p> </p><p>“Can’t say I have. Sorry, Ranboo. I’ll keep an eye out though.” Mr.Sparklez shot an apologetic look and returned to his conversation. </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo nodded and began to search around, unable to help but to overhear their discussion. </p><p> </p><p>“Captain?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, uh, it’s  a nickname the kids have for me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you sail?” </p><p> </p><p>“Uh, no... I used to... sing...” he coughed. “Captain Sparklez. It was a brand thing. A few of them found some stuff online and started calling me Captain and... it kinda... stuck.” </p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t know that's where it came from!” Ranboo piped up zealously. He hoped he remembered to add ‘lookup Captain Sparklez’ to his notes when he found his phone. </p><p> </p><p>“Ah,” Mr.Sparkelz’s face went blank at the comment. “I forgot you were here.” </p><p> </p><p>“That is <em> amazing,” </em> Puffy laughed before freezing, catching herself. Her face fell forlorn as if she’d just remembered something terrible. </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo knew how bad it felt to be stared at so he quickly stopped himself and averted his gaze back to the floor. He needed to find his phone and get out. It was none of his business. Even if he was curious, it was mean to try and sneakily pry. He looked over to the bench he had been sat at and began to feel around it. He probably dropped his phone behind it or something. At least, he hoped he had. If it wasn't here he was at a loss. </p><p> </p><p>“Um... anyway... I- I’m sorry. That’s unprofessional of me to be sidetracked like that. I know I just spent five minutes explaining how I’m here as a favor to a friend and not on the job but I- it’s still a sensitive situation. I should know better. I’m sorry.” </p><p> </p><p>“Uh, it’s okay.” Ranboo could hear Mr.Sparkez shrug. “I probably should have thought of Tommy earlier. It’s not the first time Tubbo has run off with his friend without properly informing people. Missing is a scary word but they’re sixteen now, they have a lot of autonomy. They’re used to being able to walk across the city if they like but they’re still kids. They forget and ignore rules. Thank you for your kindness but you don’t need to apologize. Tubbo should know better by now but it's not like he hasn't done this before.” </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo didn’t know how true that statement was but only because he did know how much this ‘this’ was the ‘this’ The Captain was referring to. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, it's only some missing boys...” Puffy muttered, clearly withholding something but Mr.Sparkelz didn’t press it. “Uh- anyway, I’ll go check out that park if they’re not here.” </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo’s hand closed around the familiar rectangle of his phone. He pulled it out and... bingo! He happily slid it into his pocket and- wait- he pulled it back out and hurriedly typed in a reminder to google the Captain’s music. There. <em> Now </em> he stood and left. </p><p> </p><p>He wondered if Puffy had been talking about the park where Tubbo and Tommy were. A part of him hoped so, he wanted them to get back so all the angry stuff could be over with. Ranboo got to his dorm and began feeling for his key. He wanted to flop onto his bed even if it was, in all honesty, too short for him. He couldn’t wait for when Tommy and Tubbo got back, once this was over everything could just go back to normal. Maybe they could go get ice cream! That would make anyone feel better, right? Whatever was upsetting Tommy he was sure they could solve. If not him and Tubbo then Mr.Sparklez and Mr.Philza and Tommy’s brothers. Ranboo didn't know much about Tommy's family. Mr.Philza came to talk to Mr.Sparklez a lot so Ranboo knew him pretty well. His brothers were a mystery though. He’d never even met one of them (Will… William? Wilbur? He wasn’t good with names). but Tubbo and Tommy hung out with and talked about him a lot. His other brother Ranboo had actually met- </p><p> </p><p><em> Where was that key? </em> Ranboo sighed, resigning to the fact he’d lost it again. He had no choice but to go back down to the office and ask for a spare. Again. And after he’d just been there for losing his phone! He kept his head down as he speed-walked, almost embarrassed but a little too numb to the concept of losing things to really be. This was more an annoyance than anything. He grumpily watched his feet as he paced, too busy grumbling to himself about the incompetence to notice the giant figure in his path until it was too late. He crashed into the person, finding himself falling back. He began rambling apologies immediately, despite the fact the person was clearly not affected by the collision at all. It was like running into a brick wall.</p><p> </p><p>They offered a  hand and helped him to his feet. Their nails were painted a solid sleek pink/brown. It was kind of... familiar? Maybe, but in a way Ranboo knew he probably wouldn’t be able to place. He looked up from the arm and immediately clamped up. A pair of very intimidating eyes were glaring at him. Not just looking, actively eying him over. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like this at all. He broke away, averting his gaze but still feeling the eyes burn into his skin. </p><p> </p><p>“I- uh- pl-“ he stammered unable to say what he wanted which was <em> please stop staring at me. </em> “I’m sorry, I’ll look where I’m going next time!” he rambled, forcing an upbeat tone to be polite and moving to step around the figure. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re Tubbo’s roommate.” </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo stopped. He knew this guy, right? Well, clearly he did. No, clearly <em> Tubbo </em> did. But what if he did too? He didn’t really remember but... better safe than sorry, better to just ask, he’d learned. </p><p> </p><p>“Uh, yeah! I’m Ranboo. Do I know you? I’m not good at remembering faces very well, sorry.” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m Technoblade. I’m Tommy’s brother. We’ve met but I wouldn’t say we know each other, I don’t blame you for not remembering.” </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo smiled a little, that was good. Sometimes people got really offended when he didn’t recognize them. Wait- if this was Tommy’s brother then... was he here for Tommy? Why else would he be here? Oh no. Ranboo felt himself begin to spiral again. Mr.Sparklez was one thing, that was a personal conflict, but could he withhold that information to this person looking for their own brother? Hadn’t he just been thinking how Tommy’s family would be good help? He didn’t want to make a mistake here. He didn’t have to, he realized. He just needed to move on, but Technoblade stopped him before he could play it off and walk away. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you okay?” </p><p> </p><p>“Well, it was nice seeing- uh- huh?” </p><p> </p><p>“I think you have something to s-“ he paused, deciding against saying what he was about to. “You seem... distressed about something. Are you alright?” </p><p> </p><p>“I- yeah! Just forgot my key so I’m going back to get it. You know,” Ranboo shrugged a little too casually, beginning to back away. </p><p> </p><p>“Wait,” Technoblade commanded. Ranboo froze. “Listen, I’m going to be very honest. I have met a lot of liars.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh- I haven’t li-“ </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve met a lot of people who withhold things- important things- from me. People who think that by not creating a falsehood I will conveniently ignore their truth. I do not.” </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo swallowed, stumbling backward but finding himself unable to consciously run. Tommy’s brother was scary. Tommy’s brother was angry at him. Ranboo couldn’t help but feel threatened as Technoblade took a step closer to close the small distance he had made.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m going to ask you this once. I expected an honest answer. Do you know where Tommy is?” </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo opened and shut his mouth like a goldfish. He didn’t know know what to say. He- </p><p>“No,” he squeaked out without thinking. He flinched as disbelief shone clearly in Technoblade’s body language, preparing for some kind of harsh words but instead…</p><p> </p><p>“Ranboo...” Technoblade’s voice didn’t sound like he was angry, not angry in a way he would take out on Ranboo, at least. Ranboo frowned<em>, </em>pushing away his own self-doubt for a moment to try and place the tone. “Please... just... tell me where my brother is. I need him to be okay. Phil needs him to be okay. I have to take him home. I <em>will, </em>I...” Technoblade broke off, more muttering to himself than speaking to Ranboo. </p><p> </p><p>Ranboo stiffened. He swallowed back a lump of guilt caught in his throat, suddenly feeling like a villain. He shouldn’t have lied. Of course not, he had a rule against it for a reason and everything. He’d just panicked. He shouldn’t have tried to exit the conversation just because it seemed an easy end. He wasn’t upset with himself of course, he just thought he’d made a mistake. Actually, why was he trying to doge this in the first place? He’d been asked directly, he should follow through with his own rules and be honest. He stopped cowering and tried to straighten himself out, making it clear he was addressing Technoblade without having to make eye contact. </p><p> </p><p>“I- I can take you to him.” </p><ul>
<li>••</li>
</ul><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p><b>[</b> ❤ <b>Wilbur] </b></p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> I’m so excited for tomorrow dude</p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>What did your family say? Have you asked yet? </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>Even if they say no I’m still psyched </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>We’ve got a lot of time to make up for  </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>We did fucking fantastic as a long-distance couple and all </p><p><b>SallySalmon:</b> But I wanna hold your hand </p><p><b>SallySalmon: </b>(/^-^)/ </p><p>_ _ _ _ _ _</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. not a chapter just an update but it’s personal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I feel so guilty like I’ve done a billion of these but Id rather you guys know than me keep you in the dark with no idea if I’ve dropped or ditched it what.</p><p>First and foremost I am sick. Bad sick. I have a Molotov cocktail mix of anxieties, hypersensitivity, and a stomach bug that spiral each other crazy.  That’s not what I need to tell you though it does not fucking help.</p><p>im going to be honest, I’ve lost my fixation on this fic. <b>I am not abandoning it!</b> I still am very invested in the story and I have so much planned! Twists and turns I am very excited about. Even though I know what I want to write I can’t focus on writing it. It’s just no longer an obsession and therefore takes work and I am not good at holding myself responsible that. I have spent hours thinking “I should write this chapter. I should write this chapter.” While working on easier things. That combined with the fact it’s technically still recreational and I have irl obligations means it’s going slowly. But I am not quitting! Don’t worry! </p><p>I’ve got a lot done but I want to be honest and I want to keep my head on my shoulders. <br/><br/><br/></p><p>in short, uploads will be haywire for a bit. Things will probably get back into a schedule eventually but I don’t know when. Next chapter will be later than it already is at least until I can get physically well again. <br/><br/></p><p>Im so sorry for the inconvenience and am so grateful for every single one of you and all your lovely comments! I hope you have and will continue to enjoy this fic. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Ghosted</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sally gets stood up.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi! So first of all, regarding everyone’s amazingly kind and caring responses/affirmations on the last update, I just wanted to say *cries like a faucet on full fucking blast* </p><p>For real, thank you so much for the support. It really lifted me so much and now I’m back! I’m really far into the next chapter but didn’t want to leave you guys hanging so here’s a filler episode. More of an update with flair I suppose. I think I’ll leave my last update up even though I usually delete those. It remains relevant. </p><p>Anyway, I love you all so much. Please enjoy. Soon it will be PLOT TIME, I’m nervous about writing a trial but I’m so exited to get everything out :}</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">[</span> <span class="s3">❤</span> <span class="s2">Wilbur] </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><b>SallySalmon</b>:For real though is your family on board or what? </span> <span class="s1"> <br/></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>SallySalmon: </b>Ido actually need to know what they said </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">[</span> <span class="s3">❤</span> <span class="s2">Wilbur] </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><b>SallySalmon</b>:</span> <span class="s1"> hey </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"><b>SallySalmon</b>: </span>
  <span class="s1">you should be out of work by NOW </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><b>SallySalmon</b>:</span> <span class="s1">just answer me when you get the chance</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">[</span> <span class="s3">❤</span> <span class="s2">Wilbur] </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><b>SallySalmon</b>: </span> <span class="s1">Okay, I’m aware I’m totally beingneedy </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><b>SallySalmon</b>: </span> <span class="s1">but you never take this long so respond!</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>SallySalmon: </b>It’s your own fault for usually being so punctual </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>SallySalmon: </b>You’ve set my standards too high lol </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">[</span> <span class="s3">❤</span> <span class="s2">Wilbur] </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><b>SallySalmon</b>:</span> <span class="s1"> can you at least give me an excuse? </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><b>SallySalmon</b>: </span> <span class="s1">or explication?</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><b>SallySalmon</b>: </span> <span class="s1">cmon man you’re worrying me</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">[</span> <span class="s3">❤</span> <span class="s2">Wilbur] </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"><b>SallySalmon</b>: I </span>
  <span class="s1">stg your phone better be broken or something </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><b>SallySalmon</b>: </span> <span class="s1">are they coming or not?</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">[</span> <span class="s3">❤</span> <span class="s2">Wilbur] </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><b>SallySalmon</b>: </span><span class="s1">Look,</span> <span class="s1">you’d just better not ghost me irl </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">[</span> <span class="s3">❤</span> <span class="s2">Wilbur] </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><b>SallySalmon</b>: </span> <span class="s1">Are you mad or something?</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">[</span> <span class="s3">❤</span> <span class="s2">Wilbur] </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"><b>SallySalmon: </b>Okay it’s been all day I’ve tried a million ways to get to you but nothing. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><b>SallySalmon:</b> </span> <span class="s1">Fundy and Eret say they cant reach you either. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>SallySalmon:</b> Niki didn’t answer but at least when Fundy calls HER it doesn’t go straight to voicemail </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">_ _ _ _ _ _</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">[</span> <span class="s3">❤</span> <span class="s2">Wilbur] </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><strong>SallySalmon</strong>: </span> <span class="s1">Wilbur? </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">_ _ _ _ _ </span>
</p>
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